Live it up
by SheyRicci
Summary: Sonny turns his ankle, Bravo turns around and Clay turns up...missing.
1. Chapter 1

One of my favorite bands is on tour this summer in..._EUROPE_! My husband didn't take me seriously when I told him I was off to the Netherlands come July...told me to console myself with SEAL Team returning next week...I'm happy with my consolation prize.

So many Airbourne songs make me think of this show - somehow, someway or another.

* * *

"Come on, you can't be serious." Jason fussed, palms flat on the table as he leaned across it. "Take who? No."

"Do what?" Ray added disdainfully. His job was to talk Jason down and he really didn't see the need to do that. This time, he was firmly on Jason's side.

Blackburn didn't reply. He stood with his hands on his hips and stared Jason down. This wasn't his call, not his choice, not a decision he agreed with, and what little he could do about it, he'd done.

"Hayes." McCall warned. They'd been at this over an hour. How the hell did Blackburn do this, day in and day out? "Alpha, Charlie and Delta were all assigned…"

"I don't care about other teams." Jason spat. "You don't just go and assign some flunkie to my unit and expect me to be happy about it."

"Oh, no one expected that." Eric muttered. Jason glared. Eric stared. McCall blustered.

"We've been through this," McCall began again. "It's for one mission Hayes." He held up one finger as if Jason needed a visual to help him understand how many 'one' was. "One." He waggled his finger. "One, short mission."

"Yeah, yeah. The new Echo team. Whatever." Jason pushed up from the table, ran a hand through his hair. "You tried to break up _my_ team." McCall grimaced, ah, there was the real reason Jason was being so stubborn. "Not forgiving you for that."

"With Echo fully functioning, they will be back on rotation. That will give Bravo…." McCall wilted under the look Jason gave him. "Blackburn? Little help here."

"Told you that wouldn't matter to him." Eric sighed. "Take the newbie Jason. Your mission is a simple one. Eliminate a target from a distance. Sniper shot. Easily done. You'll be back home in two days."

And boy, had he had to wheel and deal to get such a mission for Bravo: '_Yes sir, I can bring Hayes around. No sir, he will not agree easily. Right, yes, short mission, correct.'_

"That's it?" Jason saw no way out of it, knew Eric had gone to bat for him to get an easy, short mission. "Still don't like it. We operate as a team of six. The guys don't take to change or disruption or the addition of newbies. Disrupts the flow of the team."

"Kairos?" McCall smugly reminded him.

"What about him?" Ray countered. After the incident where he'd taken Clay off base and lost him, no one was really speaking to the EOD specialist.

Bravo was not known to easily forgive. They never forgot.

Eric shook his head at McCall, waved him off with the motion of his finger across his throat.

"What?" McCall demanded. "You asked for and received..."

"Let's go get a drink." Eric said hastily. "Hayes, we clear?"

Jason nodded, but he wasn't happy.

***_two days later_***

"Your job is to protect him. That is what you do. You get me?" Jason stated emphatically.

"Yeah, but on Echo….." began poor Wes.

"You're not with Echo. This isn't Echo." Jason struggled to keep his temper. "Forget Echo."

The new Echo team was not a favorite among the platoon. Delta, of course, had no issues with the new team, but then, Delta hated Bravo.

Alpha firmly had Jason's back, no issues there and Charlie? Well, if push came to shove, Jason was fairly sure Beau would grudgingly, reluctantly side with Bravo – if for no other reason than Beau was fond of Ray – but that was a fight Jason never wanted to have.

And of course, it was only Bravo that had the issue with the men that had replaced the Echo team that had been led by Jason's close friend, Steve.

Or rather, it was Jason.

Because the dick who had been promoted/assigned to be Echo's new leader, had come after first Clay, then Trent because he felt he should be allowed to have whoever he wanted on his team. Pulled the 'I'm-building-from-scratch' bullshit card.

Nunt-nuh, Jason hadn't seen it that way.

Hell, it wasn't an expansion draft, where Jason could only protect four men and lose the fifth to the new team. And if it had been, well then, Eric would have had to find some way around it because no way was _anyone_ taking any of his men from his team.

He hadn't - wouldn't ever - even entertain the thought one of them _might_ have wanted to go.

First, McCall had tried to talk Ray into applying for the position of Echo's Team Leader. Then, when Ray had turned down the offer, it had been decided by the 'brass' that Bravo didn't require two highly-qualified snipers and allowed Dick to come after Clay. Jason still didn't know how Eric had managed to shut that talk down, but oh yeah, he owed his Commander one big bottle of Scotch…..maybe there was a bottle-of-the-month club he could subscribe to for a year – have it delivered to Eric's house.

No one was taking Clay. Yes, he was qualified to fill 2IC on Echo, but he wasn't ready to leave Bravo, Jason wasn't ready to let him go and no one, Clay included, wanted to him to go.

Then Dick, 'cause that was the only name Jason was ever going to call the asshole who had attempted to pick apart his team, had claimed he needed an experienced medic, had insisted there was no medic more qualified than Trent. Dick had pointed out Jason was still running missions, Sonny still walked the earth and Clay was still all in one piece and if that wasn't testament to how good Trent was, then nothing was.

Which was true. But no, not happening.

Then – _and then_ – Dick had asked for the dog, which meant Brock and while Jason had been exploding in a fit of fury with McCall, Eric had had enough; had taken it a step further by somehow communicating to whoever that until Bravo was ready to split ways on their own, no other team was going to have a say in breaking them up.

So yeah, Echo could go jump in a lake, pound sand, eat shit.

Bravo was stressed, anxious, tense and pissed off.

As for Jason? Pfft. No one wanted to be anywhere around him. Even Ray kept a respectful distance. The only comfort Jason would even accept was that offered by a furry head on his lap.

Everyone worried and fussed about Clay having lost his best friend to a freak accident, his mentor/trainer in self-sacrifice to save the team, his girlfriend because of his job, any chance of a relationship with his old man because papa Spenser was a complete and utter ass.

But, what about Jason?

He'd lost:

Nate, his youngest member on his team; Steve, a friend he'd come up the ranks with; Adam, a friend who trained the men he'd selected to his team – all in action.

His ex-wife in a car accident.

He'd suffered a head injury in a chopper crash that had taken nearly six months to heal before he could resume active duty. He'd had a parting of ways with Ray. He'd put his kids first and left Bravo. Yeah, he'd taken some pretty hard hits himself.

"Okay, yeah, but see…"

His patience fled, his temper snapped. Jason grabbed the kid by his vest, pulled him close so he was in his face. Had a brief moment of Deja-vu….? Oh right, he'd had Spenser in his hands like this once…what was it with kids questioning his authority? Challenging his orders?

The difference?

Clay was his. This punk wasn't. Thank God for that.

With time, guidance, training and teaching, Clay had come around…well, Jason hedged, with his own team anyway. And their support team. Anyone else and Clay was as cocky and arrogant as he'd been when he'd first started training on Green Team.

Clay bonded with few people, was slow to trust, hard to get close to, kept people at a distance to avoid being hurt. But once you had his trust, he was attached – committed to the relationship. He took loss and betrayal hard.

Brian. Adam. Stella. His Dad.

Jason shook it off. "No buts. This is Bravo, not Echo. I don't care how you – they – do things. Their way ain't my way and as long as you're running with this team, things are done _my_ way. AM I CLEAR? Get it through your head." Jason gave the kid a teeth-clattering shake, poked him in the forehead with each word. "You. Protect. Him." He pointed at Clay, who stood quietly, expression blank.

Oh, the punk wanted to argue. Jason could see it. He best hold his tongue or so help him, Jason would….

"Yeah, but…."

"What are you thinking Wes?" Ray asked quietly, stepped between Echo's youngest member and his Boss. The selection to rebuild Echo had stomped on toes all across the platoon. He'd been offered to 'apply' for the team leader, uh, position. He was a Senior Chief and had the experience and qualifications to step up and take on the role.

He hadn't.

He'd had a long discussion with his wife, with Jason, with Eric but the men on Bravo were his family and he was content, happy, proud right where he was.

"Okay, yeah. But….well, why? He's the sniper, right? Isn't his job to go high and protect his team?"

Ray blinked. Good Grief, was the idiot still trying to argue with Jason?

Jason started, held it to a growl when Ray extended a hand to hold him off.

"His job is to follow orders." Ray corrected calmly. "As is yours. Protecting his team isn't his only duty."

"Yeah, but….."

Ray again held Jason off.

"He's the better shot. He has the more powerful rifle. He's faster. He sees better. His reaction time is quicker. He's going to notice things you won't, it's his job, it's what he does." Ray was going to need a couple shots after this, beer just wouldn't do. "You're assigned a job on this mission and it's to make sure nothing happens to Clay."

"Ain't so hard to understand." Sonny drawled.

"Why me? Can't one of you do it?"

"Because it's _your_ job," huffed Sonny.

"We have done it. We will do it again." Ray again waved Jason off. "But not today. Today, you will do it."

"Yeah, but you're the other sniper, why don't….."

"That's it." Jason was patient no longer. "You're with Clay. Suck it up, deal with it and keep your fucking mouth shut or so help me, I will tie you to a tree and eventually radio HAVOC to have someone find someone to send someone to look for you."

Wes blinked, it dawned on him Jason wasn't joking. Have someone _find_ someone to_ send_ someone? That was a lot of someones. So, like…who? HAVOC was, uh, Davis and Blackburn. Wouldn't that, like, take a while? And what did it mean, look for him? What, Jason wouldn't tell them where he was? Hey, wait a gosh-darn minute. Tie him to a tree?

"Uh, hey." Wes managed to respond finally. "That's not very nice."

Sonny turned his back, choked on laughter. Not very nice?

Ray just stared at Wes. "Do you have a problem with Spenser?"

Wes didn't even know Clay except by reputation. It was all he knew about anyone on Bravo. He hadn't wanted to be assigned to the team but Echo was nearly ready to join the platoon and their last act before being released to go on rotation and operate was to join another team and see how they operated.

And he'd gotten Bravo. Whoopee!

Four men from Echo, each assigned to another team and he'd gotten Bravo. Sucked. Their leader and 2IC hadn't had to be reassigned for a mission. Really wasn't fair.

"No." He told Ray. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Trent shouldered his backpack. Brock helped him ease his opposite arm through the second strap, pulled it across his back.

"Shoot anyone who takes aim at him." Trent buckled the fasteners across his belly, adjusted the weight. "Don't let anyone approach him. If he says shoot, don't question him, just shoot."

Wes stared at the team medic with wide eyes. Shoot what? Who?

"You can spot, right?" Clay asked doubtfully. Why was the boss sticking him with the unwanted newbie? It wasn't usual for Jason to let Clay out of his sight…..let alone send him off with someone none of them knew.

Wes's eyes widened. "Spot? You mean…?" He paused, shook his head. "You're not going to be shooting long distances, are you? I don't even know you."

And that made what sense?

"This guy's a Seal?" Brock rolled his eyes. "Really?"

"Seriously?" Sonny added. "Boss, you want me to go with the kid, give yo-yo here to Ray?"

Yes, that is exactly what Jason wanted but he didn't admit it. Wes had to learn to obey orders without questioning them. No one got out of a job Jason ordered them to do merely by arguing.

"Anything happens to him, your ass is fried." Jason grabbed and spun Wes around so he was facing Clay. "Take a good look at him, you see him? That's how you return him, you got me?"

Wes hunched his shoulder, took a step away but the movement didn't break Jason's hold.

"Uh." Wes was beginning to feel…..anger. "Or what?" He dared.

Sonny shook his head, clapped Trent on the shoulder, shared a grin.

"I'll make your military career short-lived and your life a living hell." Jason smiled/sneered, lips drawn tight over his teeth. "Have a nice hike."

Wes gulped, finally shrugged free and moved out of Jason's reach. "I didn't know better, I'd think you were threatening me." He didn't really believe Jason could do any such thing, but then he remembered some rumors….maybe the Bravo boss could. He rubbed his shoulder, was sure he'd have finger-shaped bruises come morning. Ow.

"I am." Jason admitted. "Move out." He motioned to Clay to get going. Wes shot Jason a glare, picked up his gear and fell in behind Clay.

Soon, as they were out of sight, Jason turned to Sonny. "Keep him in your sights."

Sonny nodded. "Roger that." Him = Clay.

He was relieved. He'd been beginning to believe Jason was trusting Clay's back to someone none of them knew. Bravo was stuck taking a soon-to-be elite Seal from another team with them on a mission to hunt, locate and eliminate a target on a hit list, but that didn't mean they had to trust him to do his job.

God knew how hard it was for them to keep track of Clay and keep him safe and they had, technology, experience and knowledge on their side and still, they lost him.

He bumped fists with his teammates, started after Clay.

Wes, still simmering over Jason, kept pace with Clay as they started up the side of the hill. It wasn't hard going, plenty of foot and hand holds, but the climb was steep and Wes began to wonder just where the hell Clay was going.

"Why does your Chief hate me?" Wes asked when Clay finally picked a place to stop and drink some water.

"Jason?" Clay sat down on a rock, opened his bottle of water. "He doesn't hate you. Doesn't hate anyone. Where's that coming from?"

"Um…..the fact he admitted he was threatening me."

"Eh." Clay waved him off. "That's just Jason. He doesn't mean anything by it."

"Liar." Wes replied. Clay shrugged. "We stopping here?" He wasn't thirsty, couldn't imagine Clay really was. Why then, had the sniper stopped to drink water? "Guess you're thirsty."

"Blackburn has a thing about hydration." Clay stood up, walked left, right, looked up. "Up there."

"Care to elaborate?" Wes asked, Clay shook his head so he let it go. "So, what's the plan? Sit here and wait until the target comes by, shoot him?"

"Yup."

"Just like that?"

"Yup."

"How long?"

"Long as it takes."

"Hey, you blue-eyed bitch." Sonny cackled in Clay's ear. "That's enough water, don't you think?"

"You got eyes on me?" Clay asked. Wes looked around, wondered who Clay was talking to. "Don't trust me?"

"You're not taking a shot from there." Sonny observed. "And it ain't you I don't trust."

"Nope, going up to the over-hang."

"Shit kid, you fall off of there, we aren't getting to you anytime soon."

Clay saw Wes's bewildered expression, sighed, slapped him upside the back of his head. "Turn your comm's on."

"Punk turned his comm's off?" Sonny whistled. "Gonna be runnin' with some weight on his back for that."

Clay didn't know Wes from Green Team training or any other deployment. He was familiar with most of the guys on the other teams, but not this guy. Might not be a bad thing, either.

"Wes?" Ray said. "You with us? Spenser? He tune in?"

"I'm on."

"There better not be a time we can't reach you." Ray warned. "You hear me Wes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let me know when you're set up Spenser." Ray said. "You're the furthest away from the road, but most likely, you will have the best shot."

_Translation: Don't give a flying leap where or how long it takes you to set up. Just want to know so Sonny can set up below you so no one gets anywhere near you._

"Roger that." Clay capped his water, put the bottle in a pocket of his backpack, left it behind. He climbed up on the rock over-hang, set up his rifle, laid flat on his belly. "Bravo six, in position."

"Bravo seven, you good?" Jason asked, waited. "Bravo seven." Silence. "SEVEN!"

"That'd be you Wes." Trent said dryly.

"Oh. Right. Me. Good here."

Silence.

"Six, you good?" Jason asked finally. "Three can be up there in less than a minute."

So, Jason wasn't trusting Wes to have his back, Sonny would likely settle within hearing distance without comm's. Clay grinned, savored the warm feeling that knowing that gave him.

Wes had the training and knowledge to be an elite Seal, they were supposed to trust him. Why, then, did no one on Bravo feel they could?

"Go with your plan." Clay replied. "From this distance, don't need him to spot. Just watch my back."

Wes was quiet. Echo had just completed the requirements to operate as a team. They'd run training simulations on base for months, competed with and against the other elite teams that made up the east coast platoon/squadron, were ready to go on rotation. But this was the first time he'd ever seen one of the teams operate off base.

"Do you think you're the best sniper the Navy has?" He asked Clay. "Or is it Perry?"

Clay spared him a WTF look, went back to his scope. "Glasses up."

"We should have a contest." Wes said eagerly, going flat on his stomach next to Clay. "You have more experience in these kinds of situations, but one on one, on the base, shooting at targets, see if you live up to your reputation."

He had a reputation? Clay squirmed flatter. Yup, that did it. Sun glare was gone. What reputation?

"You're better than Ray, right?" Wes also went flatter, found the position uncomfortable, went up on his elbows. Duh, sun glare. He went flat again.

"You can recognize the target, even in head robes, correct?" Clay asked as Brock related the convoy was mobile. "He's reported to be in the third vehicle." What the hell made the punk think Clay was a better sniper than Ray? That wasn't discussed on Bravo.

"10-4." Wes replied. "How come they don't want him alive?"

"Not our job to know." Clay sighted in. "Or care. Anyone got eyes yet?"

"Affirmative. Five vehicles." Sonny said.

"Bravo six." Ray broke the silence. "Affirmative ID, third vehicle, shotgun, rear seat," and that put the target on the side where Clay had the clear shot.

"Rear seat?"

"Repeat, rear seat. There is no third row, vehicle is a sedan. Target is behind passenger."

"You have eyes yet?" Clay asked Wes. Clay did, saw the sedan, trusted Ray's confirmation the figure in the back passenger side seat was who he was to eliminate.

"I do. Agree with two." Wes was all professional now. "When will you implement the plan to halt the progress of the vehicle's movement?"

"Negative," came Jason's voice. "Six, on you. Take the shot when you're ready."

"Car's moving at 40 miles per hour." Brock related. "Holding steady."

Wes held his tongue. Take the shot? With the car moving? What the hell was that? Was Clay doing math calculations in his head?

"Still 40?" Clay asked.

"Roger, still 40."

Clay fired.

Wes blinked and the car came to a screeching halt. Doors flew open, three men, the driver included, spilled out and fired in every direction. Bravo did not engage.

The two vehicles behind the stopped car came to a halt but no one emerged. The lead two cars continued on. Bravo let them go, had no orders to stop them. Only the middle car had anyone get out of it. Once the three men realized no one was shooting at them, one got back behind the wheel, the other two went to the passenger rear door, opened it, pulled a body out, left it in the sand.

"Kill shot." Trent reported.

They all watched as the two men got back in the car, and the three vehicle parade resumed their forward progress, soon out of sight.

"They just gonna leave him there?" Wes wondered. "Why?"

"Not our job to care." Clay rested his forehead against his scope, took a moment, eased his finger off the trigger.

"Good job little buddy." Sonny said, wished he were with Clay to give him a reassuring pat on the back. "Wait for you here."

Clay didn't reply, content to stay on his belly for another minute or so scanning the area. He didn't want to rush and miss something or someone that could prove a threat. He soon located Sonny's location, watched him.

"Meet up." Jason ordered. "Six, you good?"

"Aah….no." He sounded amused.

Silence.

No? What the hell did he mean, no?

"Come again?" Jason looked at Ray who sought out Trent and Brock's location with binoculars. Finding them in no danger, he sought out Clay's position.

Though Ray knew where Clay was, he couldn't see him through the dense foliage and sight lines. The kid had chosen his spot well.

"Three." Clay said simply. Ray swung the glasses to search out Sonny. Clay had seen Sonny fall down but he was moving, so Clay didn't believe he'd been shot. "Anything you want to tell the guys?"


	2. Chapter 2

Aww! You guys! Are great!  
Glad you're excited for more of my dabbling...

Disclaimer - medical inconsistencies.

* * *

"Uh, yeah." Sonny panted. "Boss."

"Report status." Blackburn barked in everyone's ear. "Bravo three?"

"Got a bit of a situation." Sonny admitted as Clay chuckled - giggled - in their ears. "Rock shifted."

"He stepped in a hole! His foot is stuck!" Clay crowed gleefully. "For once! _For once!_ It's not me!"

"HaHaHa." Sonny muttered. Oh, he was not happy to be the butt of jokes. God Dammit! Of all the luck! And with the Echo newbie with them too. "Why does this shit always happen to me?"

"To you?" Clay burst out. "_TO YOU?!"_ He howled. _**"**__**TO**_**_ YOU_?!" **If he were standing, he'd be hopping in frustrated disbelief!

"Get down here and help me, you half-sized punk-assed bitch." Sonny groused. "We all clear?"

Trent didn't hear any inflections of pain or discomfort in Sonny's voice or tone, decided there was no need to panic.

Ray saw Clay break camouflage, rise to his knees, wave at them, get to his feet.

"All clear." Brock responded. "Proceed with caution six."

"I'm coming." Clay told Sonny. "And yeah, not gonna let you live this down for a long time." He disarmed his rifle, set the safety, slung it over his back. "Meet you all at exfil."

Sonny threw handfuls of dirt and pebbles in disgust. Really? REALLY? This had to happen now? He gave his foot a tug….it didn't budge. The rock didn't budge. The dirt and gravel didn't budge. Neither did the ground. The only thing that budged was his ass when the earth refused to release his foot after his violent tug and the pull on his trapped leg dragged him forward.

Well, damn. He'd gone and wedged it in there quite firmly.

And wouldn't you know he couldn't reach his pickaxe or the hunting knife that would gut a freaking grizzly bear. Well, he probably could if he wanted to contort himself into a human pretzel, strain a few muscles and possibly dislocate a shoulder, and if he were alone and in danger and left to free himself, he would, but Clay was within shouting distance, so no, he didn't want to.

He'd sit still and wait.

Eh, at least no one had gotten up the hill….well, okay, no one had tried to, but if they had, they wouldn't have been able to reach Clay and put him in any danger.

"Hey," Clay slid in on his ass, coming up out of a crouch from his feet-first slide down the hill in a fluid motion. "Still stuck huh?"

Sonny huffed, rolled his eyes. Good Grief! Clay had been a minute away, had taken half that time to slide down the hill. Yeah! He was still stuck.

"Where's Doogie?"

"Taking the path," Clay slung his backpack to the ground, handed Sonny a bottle of water. "Bit of a pansy ass."

Sonny didn't comment. It was safer to take the path and he was in no pain or danger for Clay to have risked his own safety over, but the fact Clay had taken the fastest, most direct way to his side made him a bit emotional.

"Wow." Clay went down on his knees, bent over Sonny's ankle, tugged, rotated, patted it. "Wedged that in there pretty good. In any pain?"

Sonny shook his head. Not now, but would he be? For all he knew, his foot or ankle might be broken, he couldn't feel anything.

"Sit tight." Clay pulled both his knife and pickaxe, began to dig while Sonny sat and drank water.

"You good?" Sonny asked after a moment.

Clay gave him a surprised look, paused, rocked back on his ass a bit. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Killing while being shot at is one thing." Sonny said seriously. "Taking a life…"

Clay nodded. He got it, he did.

"I'm good. Buy me a beer later."

True to his training, Wes approached the Bravo teammates in silence. If they hadn't been trained as well as he, they never would have known he'd approached.

"Hey," Clay looked up, he was alternating between hitting the rock that pinned Sonny's ankle with the pickaxe and digging the dirt around it with the knife. "Sonny, feeling any pain?"

"Not yet." Sonny gave Wes a look. The hell? Had the punk stopped and had a snack coming down the hill?

"You guys carry pickaxe's?" Wes wondered in awe. "Wow." He saw the size of the knife and his eyes went even wider. "WOW! Geesch!"

Clay ignored him. "Think you will?" He asked Sonny, paused. "Gonna need you to yank your foot free once I move this rock. Funny how shit just moves on its own but then, it wedges in so hard, a man can't move it."

"Dunno." Sonny answered honestly. "Foot is numb, can't feel it."

"Pressure point on his ankle from a sharp edge of a rock? Tree root?" Wes guessed.

"Whack him in the knee." Clay ordered, half joking.

Wes shrugged, whacked Sonny's knee on his trapped leg with an open palm, got the reflexive reaction they were looking for.

"Felt that huh?" Clay grinned at Sonny's grunt and his body's jerk in response. "Good."

"Foot could be crushed." Wes pointed out. Clay nodded. Sonny growled. "Need help digging?"

"No, I've got it. Get behind him, get ready to drag him back in case he can't move his leg."

Wes nodded, moved behind Sonny, slid one arm around his stomach, hugged Sonny tight to him and got a firm, tight grip on Sonny's vest with his other.

Sonny exchanged an amused look with Clay, placed his palms flat on the ground, braced his right heel against the ground, ready to propel himself backwards if the time came he needed to do so. Where was the wishy-washy punk who'd done nothing but argue with Jason?

"Ready when you are." Wes said.

"Gonna call you Yeahbutt." Sonny muttered. They seemed to be Wes's favorite two words.

"Gonna wanna know how this happened." Clay teased. "And ain't gonna read it in the report either."

It had happened because Sonny had been more worried about Wes having Clay's back then watching where he was going and what he was doing. So, it was all Jason's fault.

Boss wouldn't see it that way though, and he'd know how it happened and boy, was Sonny ever in for a bawling out.

"Wasn't watching where I was going." Sonny muttered, growling at Clay's knowing smirk. "Shut the fuck up."

"You wear dog tags?" Wes asked when Clay's dangled free from his shirt. "Not a good idea, you know. Make too much noise." He dug a hand under Sonny's vest, patted his chest with his palm. "You don't." Sonny slapped his hand away with a growl. Wes thought for a moment that Sonny might actually bite.

"They don't clank." Clay tossed aside a large stone, dug out some more dirt, used both hands to grip the rock that trapped Sonny's foot. "Ready?" He waited, Sonny nodded.

"He took them off once." Sonny clenched his jaw. "Won't do that again, will you?"

"Lesson learned." Clay agreed and lifted.

Sonny's grunt when the pressure was relieved told Clay pain had flared. Wes dragged him back and Sonny pulled his foot free from its prison. The rock was too heavy for Clay to lift and throw, so he simply dropped it. It rolled into the hole Sonny's foot had left and covered the opening.

"Hold tight." Clay spun around, still on his knees, lifted Sonny's booted foot and rested it on his lap. He began to unlace the ties and Wes asked if they should remove the boot. "Why wouldn't I?"

"The support from his boot, the tight laces will aid him in walking if there's a bad sprain." Wes explained.

"True," Clay agreed. "But if it's that bad, he won't have to walk very far. They'll come get him."

"Who will?"

"Bravo." Clay pulled the laces loose enough to ease the boot off. He couldn't see if there were any broken toes or bones with the boot on. Besides, if the ankle was twisted or sprained, best to let it swell. "If there's any swelling, leaving the boot on will only give him more pain. Hard to cut off, it swells too much."

"Yeah, but….." Wes sighed. "Says who?"

"Trent." Sonny and Clay said simultaneously. They laughed and high-fived.

Clay thumbed Sonny's heel, felt his toes, searched with light fingers, touch a bit heavy.

"In this unit, what Trent says is what we do." Clay explained to a befuddled Wes. "Doesn't matter what doctors or scientists say or think or what research has proven. It's Trent's way or the highway."

"Yeah, but…"

"Don't think anything's broken. Need to wrap it, get some ice, elevate it." Clay was telling Sonny. "Let's go, on your feet. They're not going to wait patiently for us for long."

Sonny rose to his feet easily and without assistance. He tested his foot, put more weight on it…..ow, oh yeah, there might not be anything broken, but he'd definitely hurt something. A sprain, a twist, maybe just wrenched. Whatever, it fucking hurt.

"Want me to wrap it?" Clay asked. "Put your sock back on, Trent can cut it off. Not the boot though, we'll support your weight."

Sonny shook his head, tried taking a few steps, then a few more. Hobbled to a nearby tree, hugged it for support, held his foot off the ground.

"Yeah, maybe you'd better." He capitulated without resistance. The longer they were out in the open on the hill like this, the greater the chances for danger. And where there was the chance of danger, it was drawn straight to Clay.

Clay nodded, keyed in to his comm's. "Bravo one."

"Copy six."

"Bravo three is mobile, but we're gonna hafta take it slow."

"How bad?"

"Nothing broken, bad sprain most likely. Gonna wrap it, we'll move out."

"Which foot?" Trent asked.

Like it mattered, Wes huffed.

"Left." Clay responded. "Boot off, already swelling."

"Do you need assistance?" Jason asked.

"Wes and I can get him down."

"Let me know, that changes."

"Roger that."

Sonny sat down on a fallen tree, watched Clay squeeze a single use ice pack, sighed. Now he knew how the kid felt all the time, 'cause it was usually Clay who ended up hurt or lame or somehow otherwise laid up.

"Top, to the left." Sonny instructed. Least, that's where it seemed his foot throbbed the worst.

Clay nodded, applied the ice pack, wrapped an ace bandage securely around Sonny's ankle, made sure he hadn't made the binding too tight, worked the sock over the bandage.

"I look like an ass." Sonny complained.

"Right, oh ok, then." Clay handed him two tablets which he swallowed with water. "I'll just remove the bandage and the ice pack, let you put your boot back on 'cause you don't want to look stupid." He patted Sonny's knee, collected the trash, and repacked everything into his backpack. "Let's move out. You don't want Jason coming after us."

Sonny wanted a tree limb to use as a walking stick but a quick look around didn't provide them with a suitable one and Clay refused to waste time looking for one that was when he and Wes could easily support Sonny's weight. All they had to do was make it down the hill, Jason would have the truck come as close as it could to get them.

Grumbling, Sonny started walking on his own, soon had to accept Clay's support. They weren't half way down the hill when he accepted Wes's support, all weight now off his ankle and only on his toes.

"Shit, couldn't you fuck up your ankle on flat ground?" Clay panted. He wasn't complaining. Hell, Sonny had carried him on his back numerous times; had been one of two or four to carry him on a litter or in a basket or on a stretcher up and down and across and through all kinds of terrain in all kinds of weather.

"Think maybe he has a hairline fracture?" Wes asked. "Not something you'd know you missed."

"Bravo six," came Jason over the comm's. "We're at the access road. How far out are you?"

Clay stopped, let Sonny sit down for a rest, moved off the path to look down over the side. And they'd been worried he'd fall off his over-hang. Bah.

"Ten mikes." Clay reported. "He's good, just slow moving."

Sonny peered down at his offending foot, curled a lip in disgust. No, he couldn't see the swelling, but boy-oh-boy he sure as hell felt it.

"Giving you fits?" Clay asked, taking two gel-caps and offering the bottle to Wes who refused the offer. His back was not going to thank him for this trek down the hill.

"Mmm."

"Can I just again say how glad I am it's not me this time?" Clay chortled.

"You gloat." Sonny goaded. "Go ahead, it will bite you in the ass."

Clay grinned, but some of his amusement fled, the rest dimmed. Sonny was right. Just because Clay hadn't turned his ankle in a hole on the hill, didn't mean he'd go home from this mission unscathed.

They finally reached the bottom of the hill, stepped onto the flat road, began to trudge towards the exfil location. They didn't get far when the truck rumbled up to greet them and Brock and Jason swung off the tailgate.

"Yippee tye-I-oh, giddyup little doggies." Brock whooped, taking Sonny from Clay.

"It's get along little doggies, you ass-wipe." Sonny corrected as hands reached from the back of the truck for his feet. Clay and Jason swept his legs out from under him, let Brock and Wes hold his weight, handed him up.

"Wyoming will be their new home." Ray sang, pulling Sonny into the truck where he left him on the floor in Trent's capable hands.

"Who the fuck wants to go to Wyoming." Sonny hissed when Trent plucked his foot off the floor by his heel. "OW!"

Trent ignored him. He felt Sonny's toes through the sock, rotated his ankle left, right, up, down, forward, backwards. Sonny's hisses and grunts and ows went ignored.

Clay took a seat on the bench and the truck pulled out.

"Infirmary?" Ray asked. Trent nodded.

"What the hell happened?" Jason demanded, glared at Wes, clearly laying the blame for Sonny's injury on the newbie.

"Oh now, don't look at me like that." Wes protested, hands up, palms out. "I returned Spenser hale and hearty, just like you said to." He haha'd Jason in his face. "You," he pointed at Sonny, "Didn't say anything about how to bring _him_ back."

"Oh hell Boss! You just got burned!" Trent laughed over the look on Jason's face. "Lie down." He told Sonny. "We have a forty minute ride."

Sonny scowled. "I'm not dizzy, not gonna puke." Flat on his back put him at a disadvantage and he didn't like it.

"Gimme that bag." Trent told Brock who kicked it over with one foot. "Want your ankle above your heart, you dumb ass." He opened two more ice packs, squeezed with more strength than was required to activate them. Sonny was glad Trent was man-handling the ice packs and not his foot. Trent plopped one on top of Sonny's foot – none too gently either – and placed the other one under his heel.

"Shouldn't you unwrap his foot first? Wes asked. "Ice it for twenty minutes, then let it return to room temp….." He trailed off at the look of contempt from Trent. "Alrighty then, I'll just, uh…hey there puppy. Aren't you a handsome fella."

Cerberus eyed the hand Wes extended, sniffed, then lowered his head to have his ears scratched. Brock was impressed Wes had had the sense to let Cerb make the decision to be petted.

"Here, eat a candy bar." Trent tore the wrapper from a Snicker's. "I have Hershey's if you prefer it."

"I don't need sugar Trent." Sonny reached for the chocolate even as he said it. Trent would not be deterred, everyone knew that. "Not going into shock. Good Christ."

"You give him any ibuprofen?" Trent asked Clay, who nodded.

"Gave him my liquid gel-caps." Clay smirked. "Don't just give it to anyone."

"For Pete's sake." Sonny huffed. "They're over-the-counter! No big sacrifice on your part."

"He okay?" Ray asked.

"Yeah." Trent patted Sonny's knee. "Get an x-ray, keep a compression bandage on it, stay off his feet a few days."

"So, not broken. Hairline fracture?" Jason asked.

Trent shook his head. "He'd be in more pain, wouldn't be able to bear any weight on it, not even his toes."

Now, that just wasn't true…well, not completely. It was, but Trent couldn't know that without confirmation from x-rays. Wes opened his mouth to argue, caught Clay staring at him, shaking his head.

Right, what Trent said was law around here.

Ray offered Clay a bottle of Gatorade, sat down next to him, knocked shoulders with the younger man.

"So, other than Sonny stepping into a rabbit hole, you good?"

Clay knew what he was asking – killing a target without knowing who or why took an emotional toll. It was war, but still….didn't always make it easier knowing that.

"I'll sleep it off."

"You wanna talk…" Ray let it hang in the air between them. Clay nodded. "Get back to base, get a hot shower, something to eat, call it a day, huh?"

"Guess."

"Still seeing, uh…" Shit! Ray just could not think of the girl's name Clay was seeing. "Donna? Debbie? No, Darlene! Starts with a…..D, right?" He asked tentatively. "Aah!" He snapped his fingers. "Diane. Not Delores. Dawn? Danielle? Denise?"

"Molly." Clay grinned.

"Molly?" Ray repeated doubtfully. "Are you sure? That doesn't start with a D. Dolly, maybe?"

"You try." Clay let him off the hook. "It's Molly."

"Was there a D?"

"Deanna." Clay confirmed. "Keep up ole man."

"I remember living it up when I was your age." Ray commented, reminiscing. "Aah, the good ole days."

Deanna. She, um….oh she was a pistol. An Army gal, she'd been extremely competitive with the desire to win – no matter the game or situation – at any cost.

The muscle in his left calf twinged at the thought of daring Deanna. Hiking with her had ended with one hell of nasty cut on his leg when she'd wrestled him to the ground in an attempt to relieve him of all weapons. She'd found and pulled his knife from his boot, then believing she'd won, had shoved it back in but had missed its sheath and found his skin.

Holy Hell - ow, that had hurt!

She'd been adept at treating injuries, though he was sure Trent would beg to differ and Clay hadn't sought further medical treatment. Hell, he'd gone and forgotten about it, keeping up with her was a 24/7 job.….but yeah, that, uh, event, coupled with a few others, had convinced him she was more than he could handle – or wanted to deal with.

And if he hadn't made the decision to say good-riddance on his own, Sonny made it for him when he'd seen Clay's wrists after spending the night at her place. Sonny hadn't asked questions, hadn't teased him, but his angry frown said he understood what had caused the red, puffy skin and he hadn't cared the marks would disappear within a few hours….no abrasions, no bruises…but no. He wasn't going to sit around and allow that kind of relationship.

All he'd said was: _Do I need to kick anyone's ass?_

When Clay had blushed and said no, Sonny had stared him for a bit then said: _She ain't worth it kid, kick the bitch to the curb._

Clay already had.

"Molly Madison." Brock said the name as a question. "Pies, right?"

"Not in your life time." Jason teased, punching Brock in the arm. "Stopped making 'em in the 80's and it was Dolly Madison." Leave it to Brock to know the history on sweets.

Wes sat quietly, enjoying the fun, good-natured teasing between the teammates. Wondered if, hoped that, someday his unit would be as close, as tight, and as comfortable with one another as these guys were. He'd heard rumors about Bravo, everyone did. Some guys even knew these men personally.

Whether or not you were one of the elite Seals, if you were a Seal on rotation from the East Coast, you knew about Bravo.

_***later that evening***_

"Hey Boss." Clay entered the weapons room where Jason, Ray and Lisa were…well, doing something.

It'd been a long day. They'd returned to base, Sonny had gone off for x-rays with a tut-tutting Doc who marveled it hadn't been Clay who required his services and Clay and Wes had been ushered off for debriefing, and then were required to write their reports before finally being allowed loose to get hot showers and something to eat.

Sonny had stretched ligaments in his ankle, though luckily he hadn't suffered a complete tear. He'd be fine after resting it for several days. He was ordered off his feet, his foot iced and elevated and once the swelling had subsided, told to pedal a bike and swim to help strengthen the idle muscles and ligaments in his foot.

He was not happy and everyone was giving him a wide berth.

"Spenser." Jason barely looked up. "Everything go okay?"

"Yeah, we're released."

"What do you want?"

"We restricted to base?" They were due to fly home tomorrow afternoon, delayed twenty-four hours so they could all fly home with Sonny.

That brought Jason's head up, caused Ray to turn and Lisa to pause.

"No. Going somewhere?"

"Couple guys from Support are headed into town, catch a movie, go bowling, hit a bar. Wes and I are gonna go."

Wes? Really? Jason glanced at his watch, it was just after 7 o'clock. He shrugged.

"Don't drink and drive, but if you drive drunk, drive back real fast."

Lisa whopped him across the shoulder with something rubber that looked like it would sting like a bitch. It did. Jason went 'OW', held a hand over his stinging skin, looked incredulously at his team's logistics specialist.

"The hell Davis!" Jason exclaimed, couldn't believe she'd just whacked him a good one.

"What the hell kind of advice is that?" She admonished. Especially after the way he'd lost his wife! Ex-wife, whatever. Yes, yes, she understood humor was a way to handle grief, but...really? "What's the matter with you?! Clay, do not listen to him. Do not drink and drive."

Clay grinned, blue eyes twinkling. He knew Jason was teasing. He gave her a thumbs up.

"Uh, take a cab," Jason corrected hastily, eyeing Lisa and her rubber fin warily. "No fights, back by curfew."

Clay nodded and left.

Before Ray could say a word, Jason pulled his cell and dialed.

"Randy? Who's going? Uh-huh….yeah, Spenser and West…Wesson, whatever. Midnight. Right, yup. Okay. Thanks." He hung up, pocketed his phone, returned to packing parachutes.

"That it?" Ray asked.

"Yup." Jason tucked and zipped. Patted and flattened.

"Letting him go, just like that?"

"It's a free night, he wants to go, can't stop him."

"Uh, yeah, yeah you can."

Jason grinned. Hell yeah, he could. "Good to see the kid happy Ray. What do you want?"

"You sure about this?" Ray frowned. He wanted Clay safe on base, within their sight. They were already down Sonny.

"Who's going with them?" Lisa demanded, hands on hips, ponytail swinging.

"Matt and Seth."

"Don't like it." Ray warned.

"Eh, what could happen?" But Jason couldn't look Ray in the eye.


	3. Chapter 3

Spring - ugh. Takes too much of my time! The lawn, the cleaning, the changing(ironing) of curtains and switching bed sheets, the planting, the weeding, washing/waxing the cars...I'd rather come home from work and write...but hubby's like...come outside, enjoy the fresh air...here's a hoe...MEN!

* * *

"You know," Eric said to McCall via Skype, a bottle of bourbon on McCall's table, Eric with a bottle of vodka. "What makes this team so god-damn good is their relationship with one another."

"Leads to bad things." McCall disagreed without rancor, anger. He poured a shot, downed it.

"Nah." Eric blew him off, paused. "Like what?" He poured a shot, added water, downed it.

"Rebellion? Dismissal of authority? Disregard of orders? Blatant disobedience?" He didn't add disrespect because that wouldn't be true. "Argumentative, head-strong, stubborn. Shall I go on?"

"What? Who? Hayes? Bravo? Pfft." Eric buried his nose in his refilled glass. "Bah."

"Expenses are out of control. Budget blown to hell. The need for a full support team. Doc. Dog. GPS technology."

"Success rate." Eric said simply. "And all teams have a dog."

"Hayes." McCall pointed out with a shake of his head, raised the glass to the camera, downed it, "That man's tactical mind."

"Mmmm. They aren't stupid or reckless Pete." Eric argued. "As for Hayes?" He snorted. "The respect and loyalty and trust his men have for him and one another makes this team tick. I really thought this team was the best when they had Nate, but now?"

McCall was quiet. Despite his grumblings, he and Blackburn let Bravo get away with a lot of shit no other team was granted. Bravo was also given whatever they wanted, no matter what it was they demanded or what it cost or what it took to get it, and oh yeah, that put noses out of joint across the platoon.

And there would be more requests and they would be met. Bravo did not taking being told no well.

"…ever since they got Spenser," Eric was saying. "They circled around that kid and now, they're the best fucking Seal team the Navy is ever going to see."

"And you're proud to command them."

"Damn right." And someday, the team would be Clay's to lead. Eric intended to be retired by then. "Hell, yeah."

McCall sighed. "You do realize the additional expense we incurred keeping the team on the ground over there another day just because they wanted to fly home with Quinn, right? Who, by the way, could have flown out on schedule with only mild discomfort?"

"Yeah." Eric agreed. "But they're exhausted Pete."

"Easy mission. You begged for it." McCall was quiet. Truth was he was as proud of Bravo as Eric was. He oversaw the entire platoon and wasn't allowed to publicly acknowledge a favorite team, but oh, he had one. "It's all Spenser's fault, eh? They took to that kid, latched on tight."

"Yeah, having him to worry over, fuss about…..hell, he took up with this girl from the Army. I had to get her reassigned out to the West coast. Quinn had a fucking fit and…"

"Eric," Mandy burst into the room without knocking. "We've got a problem."

Of course they did.

() () ()

"Jason, hey." Eric finally tracked down the team chief, found him alone, in the dark, in the closed cafeteria that while no longer serving a hot meal, still had food available. "I paged you."

"I got it." Jason didn't look up, enjoying a slice of stale cinnamon crumb cake with a glass of milk. "Just want five minutes of peace, you know?" It wasn't an actual page, just a text on his phone to call Eric. "Can I get that?"

"Yeah well no, ain't getting it." Eric didn't sit down, stood opposite Jason, hands on his hips. "I don't page you unless it's important. Plane is gassing up, thirty minutes, we're outta here."

"Say what?" He shook his head, ate cake, drank milk. "Not happening."

"Sonny'll just have to suck it up. His foot throbs, Doc will…..." Eric began.

Jason sighed, put down his fork, rubbed his forehead wearily. "Blackburn, it's not Sonny. I don't….we can't leave in 30."

Eric pushed a hand through his hair. They were used to dealing with Clay in pain and he was much easier to handle than a hurt Sonny or a tired Jason. Clay would accept meds and sleep, long as he wasn't alone.

"Look, it's just best we leave, okay? Why do you always have to argue with me?"

"Was looking forward to a night in a bed, not a hammock." Jason replied. "Talk to me or go away." He picked up his fork, took another bite. "Christ, give us one night to get some sleep. How 'bout that Blackburn? Huh? That too much to ask?"

He still wasn't happy about having the mission forced on him and having to take Wes. Mainly because it was a mission only because of Wes. Yes, yes, he understood he had to give in once in a while, and he had, but that didn't mean he had to be happy or pleasant about it.

"There's chatter about retaliation for the assignation of Aazim." Eric said impatiently. Man, he hated always having to give Jason an explanation in order to get him to do something he didn't want to do. "An attack Jason."

Why couldn't the man, just once, do as he was told without balking? Geesch! That trait of Jason Hayes drove him nuts.

Jason just stared at him. "So?" He managed around a mouthful of cake, fork mid-air. He swallowed, waved the fork. "No one's going to attack the base." Not that it was much of a military base. More or less smatterings of buildings near a landing strip close to a small airport and not American…..Sweden, maybe? Switzerland? Aw, hell, Jason didn't know, neither knew nor cared.

"Not the base Jason." Eric waited patiently. Jason was tired, Eric could easily see it. "Terrorists target the public. Usually well-known, popular places. Let's not be here, that happens."

The entire team was wiped. Yeah, yeah, short easy mission, sure. But it came on the heels of one that had been hard and stressful and that they had just returned from. Eric hadn't seen the need to force them onto the plane to fly home when they were willing to take a night and just relax.

"Wait, wait, wait." Jason dropped the fork, pushed the plate away, milk forgotten. "What are you saying?" He stood up. "Eric, I have four men in town."

Eric? First names? Oh boy.

Now it was Eric's turn to fume impatiently. Of course, given a night to rest and catch up on sleep, he'd thought they'd all stay together on base. "Say what?" He frowned, glared angrily. "Why is anyone off base?"

"Why would I think I needed to keep everyone here?" He realized just how serious the situation was. Eric firmly believed there would be – if there already wasn't one happening – an attack. "Fuck!" He pulled his cell, thumbed Clay's number, hit send. "Text Spenser, blow his phone up."

Jason trotted back to Bravo's quarters, phone to his ear, Eric on his heels, muttering, 'it had to be Clay'!

Sonny was sprawled on the sofa, reading a book, foot wrapped and iced and nestled on pillows to keep it elevated, Trent and Brock were playing chess and Ray was sleeping when Jason burst into their barracks.

"Hey!" Sonny protested at the loud, disruptive entrance. "Quiet, old man sleeping!"

"Get a hold of Seth and Matt, now!" Jason ordered, rudely slapped Ray awake. "Sonny, Clay's not answering me, call him. Who has a number for Wes?"

Brock slapped his mug onto the table, phone in hand as he told Trent he'd call Matt. Trent nodded, got up to pace as he tried to get a hold of Seth.

"Boss?" Sonny pushed up with his palms until he was sitting, dug for his phone that eluded his hands. "Fuck me." He muttered. "It was right here!" He finally found it, turned it around, hit speed dial six, waited. "What's going on?"

Eric rubbed his forehead, drew his hands down his face, blew his breath out….let's see, he'd texted Clay, Matt, Seth, then Clay again, called Clay's satellite phone…..started texting again.

"Chatter about a possible terrorist attack." He said distractedly. "Gassing up the plane."

"We're leaving?" Sonny asked. "Come on kid, answer the phone." He supposed if they had to, they'd fly out and Clay and the boys could take a later flight.

He snorted. Right. Like hey, yeah, no problem. Sure, just book 'em on the next flight out. What next flight?

"Where?" Ray asked, yawning, still waking up. "Here?" He looked out the window. "The base? Sounds odd Blackburn." He stretched his arms over head, cracked his neck. "We're protected here. Safe."

He too, privately doubted Clay and the others would be able to make it back in time before the C17 lifted off with Bravo, Doc and Support on board. That meant they'd have to take alternate transportation. Most likely a chopper, which couldn't fly as far as the plane…the next two words he heard, threw him into a panic and he was on his feet, hand on Sonny's shoulder.

"Entertainment district." Eric replied absently.

"The movie theaters?" Sonny rasped. "Or bowling alley?" Because that was where Jason had said Clay and the guys had gone, right?

"I pulled a map." Eric cursed at the phone in his hand as if it were at fault he wasn't getting any responses, gave it a good shaking, ordered it to ring. "All the same block."

"Wait," Ray put a hand up. "Just wait. Are you saying this, uh, town…..the entertainment district is on high alert for a terrorist attack?"

"I'm saying, if it ain't happening now, it either already has or will any second."

***000***

Clay ordered a round of beers, carried the bottles by the necks to their table. The guys would have preferred a couple of shots, but hard liquor, a strange city, being out-numbered and unaware of the out-laying city didn't make him feel secure.

Besides, he had one hell of a headache. Thought maybe it was because the debrief had lasted forever, dinner had been rushed and he hadn't eaten too well the last day or so. Their last mission had left him bruised and sore, though it was manageable and he hadn't even had to see Doc.

He'd be happy when Echo was on rotation, Bravo would have a bit of a break then, maybe, hopefully.

The movie had been a bust. Foreign film in a foreign language not even he recognized, so they'd walked out and gone to the lower level of the entertainment complex, where they were deciding whether or not they wanted to bowl.

Yeah, he was thinking no.

He doubted, with all the clanking of the pins and thuds of the balls – sounds that even now, though distant and muted, felt like darts were being lodged at and striking his head – that he'd be able to remain any closer to the lanes then they already were for long.

There was a level yet below the bowling alley – poor design anyone asked Clay, but whatever – where there was a dance/nightclub but Clay didn't feel comfortable being completely underground, so he'd vetoed checking it out and no one had argued with him.

Besides, the spinning disco lights and the thump-thumping of the bass from the speakers would surely cause his head to rebel and likely leave him in a heap on the floor. Seth and Matt would tell on him and wouldn't that go over well with Trent!

Seriously, his head was finding new ways to attempt to kill him.

"You trust the food over here?" Wes asked as he relieved Clay of two bottles. "They serve food, right?"

"Uh, no. Not in a place like this." Matt laughed. "You suicidal?"

"Don't even drink anything that isn't in a sealed bottle. No drafts, no tap water." Seth added. He eyed Clay, who he felt was being unusually subdued. "You okay?"

"But I'm hungry." Wes complained. "They serve salad." He waved a menu he couldn't read, but he recognized the pictures. "How can that be bad? Can't be undercooked."

"Uh, it's vegetables." Clay pointed out, sat down. "How do you think they wash them?" He met Seth's gaze, shrugged. Suddenly he felt….hot and lightheaded. Oh, this couldn't be good.

Wes's face fell. "Oh, right." They probably washed veggies with tap water. "I see a vending machine…anyone got any local money?"

Clay grinned. The entertainment complex took American credit cards but the vending machine didn't. After all, this wasn't America where a card could be used pretty much anywhere.

"We'll head back soon." Seth said, an eye on Clay. "Finish this round."

"Yeah," Matt agreed. "You can grab fruit and cake at the base cafeteria."

Clay wouldn't admit it, but he jumped at the excuse to head back, was glad Seth had understood his silent plea to leave. Maybe his headache was from tension; being away from the team? Nah!

His back pocket vibrated and chirped, vibrated and chirped. He pulled his phone but the call dropped before he could answer it.

"Who's calling you over here?" Wes asked. "Mom? Girlfriend?"

"Jason." Clay shared a look with Matt, then….."Whoa"…..when one text after another blew up his phone.

"What?" Seth asked then reached for his own phone just as Matt did.

"Wow," Clay read numerous texts from Eric, Brock, Trent, then Sonny, then Ray and Jason:

_Where are you? Call in. Come back. Get out of there. You okay? Everyone with you? You need to leave. Leave now. Get out. Dammit, call me. Fuck you, you dick, answer me._

He thumbed the miss calls, saw the voicemail alerts. Odd, texts were coming through, but calls weren't.

Seth and Matt held their phones out, showed Clay their texts from the team.

Clay nodded, held up a finger to hold them at bay, thumbed Jason's number, hit send, raised the phone to his ear, motioned for Seth and Matt to go ahead and respond to their phones however they chose.

"Hey boss…" He began when Jason answered. Okay, so calls would go out. "What…..?"

"Where. Are. You?" Jason bit out harshly.

Clay blinked, a bit taken aback by the tone. He'd asked for and been given permission to leave base and come into town. And it was nowhere near curfew, wasn't like they were late getting back.

"Bowling alley. Movie was a bust. What's up? Phone reception is shit. Matt and….."

"Fuck it Spenser, listen to me. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. There." Jason cut in. "High alert for terrorist hit. Get out."

Clay was already pushing back his chair. He didn't worry about Matt or Seth, they would mimic his actions and be on his ass out the door. He used his free hand to grab Wes by the collar and yank him out of his chair, pulling him along as he started moving.

"We're mobile." Clay confirmed. "GO!" He ordered Matt and Seth who charged forward and cleared a path. "We're an hour out." He swung Wes in front of him, gave him a shove in the back. "MOVE!"

"If you see a fire alarm, pull it." Jason ordered. "Cause a panic, get people out of there."

"I don't….I can shoot the sprinkler system….." His eyes darted in the dim light, let go of Wes, reached to pull his .9mm from his waist band.

_KABOOOMMMMM!..._

Clay instinctively ducked but the action was useless and offered him no protection. He was jolted – blasted – blown – off his feet. He flew head over heels backwards…..landed on his back on a table that didn't hold his weight and crashed to the floor with a teeth-clacking, bone-jarring thud that momentarily knocked the wind out of him.

_PITTERPATSPLATPOPOPOPPITTERPATSPLATPOPPOPOP_…_RATATAT-TAT….._

The phone, somehow still in his hand exploded…glass shattered, plastic cracked, he flung his arms up to cradle his head in an attempt to protect it from the pitter-spatter of bullets – oh yeah, he knew the sound of gun fire when he heard it.

_CRACK…BOOM….BAM….WHOOSH….._

He had absolutely no time to mourn the loss of his cell phone as it rained dust and chunks of concrete, the wall blew out, crumbled, collapsed, let half the ceiling fall.

Jesus Christ! Bullets _and_ bombs?

He belly-flopped flat, army crawled towards….well, where the door and the wall should have been. Debris and blockage forced him to seek another exit.

Chaos erupted in the room….people screamed, bolted blindly for a door, found their way blocked…..ran in circles, ran into each other, stepped on him, kicked him...tripped, fell. In their panic and haste to flee, they ran across him, ran over him, fell on him, pushed off him or dropped dead on him as they were shot or blown apart.

Wes lost sight of Matt and Seth, prayed they'd made it safely outside. He managed to remain on his feet, but he was pushed and pulled, moved left then right and spun around by the surge of the panicked crowd surfing for any available exit.

He would most likely die any second now…shot, blown up, crushed and all he could think about was the interaction he'd witnessed between Sonny and Clay on the hill. Remembered how Sonny had been close enough to have Clay's back even though Wes had been right there. He understood what that was about – trust and loyalty. Remembered how Clay had forgone the path in favor of reaching Sonny's side as quickly as possible. He understood what that was about – the need to make sure his friend, teammate was okay.

His shoulder hit something hard. Hard enough it rocked him back on his heels and he fought to keep his balance. He fell now, he'd be trampled. Course, he stayed on his feet, even with his head ducked, he stood a greater chance of being gunned down.

The remaining walls were breathing, bowing from the pressure of the collapsing ceiling. The floor was buckling, cracking from pressure of the bowing walls. He felt a sharp pain, right arm, bicep maybe. It took his breath away, sent him to his knees.

Or maybe the heaving floor did.

His injured arm was grabbed and he was swept to his feet and hauled along with surprising strength and agility. He spared a glance – Clay.

Seeing Wes stagger then fall, had spurred Clay into action. He'd pushed to his feet and bolted. Should he help who he could? Probably. Should he find cover and see if he could locate the shooters? Probably.

Did he? No.

Clay was knocked into, he was pushed and shoved, bodies fell next to him, in front of him, he had to step over and hop aside, but dragging Wes with along with him, he bee-lined for a gap in the wall. They ran, they jumped, they leaped and hopped. Another blast shook the entire building; walls collapsed, the ceiling crashed, the floor fell. Another boom, a blast, an explosion and the entire building came down.

It all happened within seconds.

***000***

"SPENSER? CLAY?!" Jason yelled frantically. Irrationally, he pulled the phone from his ear, looked at it like he could actually see what was happening. _**"CLAY?!"**_

They all heard what had sounded like an explosion, people screaming, sounds of breaking glass, gun shots, Jason had the call on speaker, then silence when the phone went dead.

Eric bolted. Jason on his heels. This time, there was no sedate trot - it was a flat-out race to command.

Sonny was off the sofa, around the table and the last one out the door, crutches forgotten, bad ankle ignored, but _no way_ was he going to be left behind.

Command was lit up, a whirlwind of motion and activity. Lisa was on two phones, techs had multiple screens up, were hacking into cameras. Randy was maneuvering a drone that he'd stolen from someone, somewhere.

"…..working on hacking anyone who is filming and streaming on their cell phones, so far there's nothing." Someone told Eric. "No images, no recordings…..."

"Yet," added Randy determinedly. "Keep on social media. It'll come."

"Satellites aren't getting a clear visual. Dust cloud….." Said someone else.

"Dust? You mean smoke?" Ray corrected. "Right? No? Both?"

"Buildings aren't built over here like…..at home." Lisa paused. "They, uh….they aren't standing anymore. Either collapsed or exploded….or on fire."

"Drone?" From Jason, standing over Randy's shoulder. "How close are you?"

"What drone?" Mandy had appeared. "What's going on? We don't have access…..what did you do?"

"So, it happened?" Trent guessed, ignored Mandy. His mind didn't process the same way his teammates did. He was already mentally deciding what he'd be taking with him, not how he was going to get there.

'Cause they were going, and how they got there was Jason's job to figure out, not his.

"Yeah."

"What we got?" Eric reached for the landline Lisa handed him, told him she lacked the proper identification clearance codes to get any kind of information from local government. "I'm on it."

Bravo grouped around the largest TV screen as images began to come in. Smoke and dust was a huge obstacle for a clear visual but as more and more hacked security cameras from surrounding buildings came online, they were able to see what was happening in the streets.

Disorder, disarray, confusion.  
Terror.  
Commotion and chaos.  
Panic.  
Mayhem and pandemonium.

"Well then, let's go." Jason smacked his palms together. "Get down there before local authorities."

"U.S. armed military on the ground not gonna happen." Eric warned them.

"Then we don't go armed." Brock stood next to Ray. "We go as civilians. Aid in the rescue efforts. God knows we're capable."

"Then you'd have to actually help." Eric replied. "You can't claim to go down there under the guise of helping others and not do it."

"What makes you think we won't?" Ray asked. "This is….in this country… rescue efforts will be weak and disorganized until world relief organizations touch down."

"Wait, wait." Mandy held a hand up, went ignored by everyone. "No one is going anywhere."

"What are terrorists even doing here?" Sonny complained, falling into a chair someone wheeled his way with a shove of a foot.

"It's in retaliation for the death of Aazim." Someone replied.

Sonny cursed. They wouldn't even still be in this little piece of hell if he hadn't hurt his foot. He should have sucked it up and flown out on schedule. If he had, Clay and Matt and Seth would be safe and alive. The newbie too.

Sonofabitch!

"Cerberus is not a cadaver dog." Mandy felt the need to say, overhearing the conversation Brock and Ray were having.

"No one knows that." Brock snapped back. "And he's been trained to find any of us."

"Find you?" Mandy raised an eyebrow, turned to Eric. "What should I know that I don't?"

"Dammit Mandy!" Jason was heated, sought a source to vent his anger and frustration on and Mandy just happened to be there.

"Don't yell at me!" Mandy matched his tone. "You can't go into town Jason. The plane is gassing up, you're going to be on it. Blackburn, talk to him."

"You should have known…..where's all this chatter you always hear? Where's your leads? Your snitches? Your assets you're so damn quick to protect." Jason smacked the back of his fingers against his palm. "You should have known."

"Not everything is about you Jason."

"If you had any idea there would be retaliation over the elimination of Aazim, you should have told me!"

"You did your job, that's all you need…."

Jason lashed out, pulled his fist, grabbed Mandy by her shoulder. He didn't shake her, but boy, was it a hard struggle to pull in his anger.

"I let four men go into town because I didn't know there was any possibility of danger." He uttered lethally. "Do you get that Mandy? Four men. Four men that wouldn't be there if you had told me there was chatter of an attack. So, yeah, it is about me."

Mandy was quiet, used her free hand to hold Jason's wrist, didn't attempt to break free from his hold. She did not fear him.

No, she hadn't known Jason had let anyone go into town, though the possibility that the guys would want to cut loose on an unexpected free night should have occurred to her.

"Let me guess," she licked her lips. "Spenser?" She didn't see him in the room, but she knew anyway.

Jason relaxed his hold, let Mandy step into his arms for a hug, accepted the brief moment of offered comfort.

"I'm sorry." She said solemnly. "But we have to go. Orders have come down. Tell them Eric."

"It's personal now." Sonny spoke up. "This shit…"

"No." Mandy cut in. "The attack didn't happen because Spenser went out for a drink."

"It happened because he killed Aazim." Ray pointed out.

"No one knows that." Davis countered back.

Eric said firmly. "This attack would have happened no matter where you were. It will be looked into and if there is anyone to track down and hold responsible, it will be done."

"We…." Sonny began but Eric held up his hand.

"Not by Bravo."

"We can argue this out later." Trent said. "We clear to head into town?"

"What?" Mandy asked startled. "Did you not hear me? Was I not clear? No. No, you are not."

"Not as American military." Jason told her. "But we're going and nothing you say or do is going to stop us."

"Blackburn," Mandy turned to Bravo's commander but he was shaking his head.

"Don't look at me." Eric said. "He's never listened to me before, why would he start now?" Well, he did, but never when any member of his team was in peril.

She frowned, lips pursed but yeah, Jason was correct…there was nothing she could do to stop them.

"The base is evacuating except for local…" began Mandy. She gave up with a sigh. "Orders have been issued. It's not our decision. We have to go."

"Then go." Jason said. "Everyone who wants to can go with you."

"Randy?" Mandy questioned.

"What? Yeah, yeah. Sure." Randy didn't even spare Mandy a glance, concentrating on maneuvering his stolen drone. 'Davis, hey you got…." And he blew Mandy off. He had no intention of joining anyone on any plane until all of Bravo and Bravo Support were on it.

"Load up." Jason ordered, put a hand on Sonny's shoulder. "Not you."

"I'm going." Sonny stated firmly, pushing to his feet where he stood on one foot. "Gimme my crutches." Belatedly, he realized his crutches were not with him. "Dammit!"

"No, you're not."

"This is my fault!"

Jason sighed, pinched his nose between his eyes. Yeah, it kinda was Sonny's fault they delayed going home and Clay had gone into town, but it was through no fault of his own.

HaHa.

"I ordered Wesson to go up the hill with Clay, that's on me." Jason said. "Shake it off. Shit happens Sonny, chain of events and here we are. Not helping anyone. Stay in Command, sit with Davis if you want, but you're staying here." He shoved Sonny back into his chair.

"We'll find them." Trent shook Sonny by the back of his head. "He's Clay…..if he's hurt, he'll fight through it. If he's not, he'll take care of the others. If he can, he will help anyone who needs it."

"And if he's dead?" Sonny sniped sarcastically.

"Help Davis, improve your hacking skills." Ray squeezed his shoulder. "She's freaking out."

Normally, no one would comment on Davis or her moods and emotional stability – or dare suggest she might 'freak out' – but it was glaringly obvious Eric was going with Bravo and that would leave her on her own in command with only tech support.

"If he's dead, we'll bring him back." Jason said simply, bumping fists with Davis.

Sonny cursed, fists balled. If he could go, Blackburn wouldn't have to.

"This could take days." Ray warned.

"Then make sure you take enough water." Trent said. "I need 15."

Minutes, not bottles of water.

"Jason, you can't charge down there, unarmed." Mandy tried one last argument. "Shooters at large, suicide bombers. Anyone manages to get out of the building will be – could be, picked off."

"We can easily take care of that." Ray pointed out, waited, knew they wouldn't be granted permission to go as an armed military American assault team. "What I thought."

"Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Bravo arrived at the scene, local authorities and first responders – or whatever they were called – had already arrived and the obvious threat of active shooters and bombers had 'allegedly' been neutralized.

But rescue efforts? Well, disorganization and confusion was so great that the presence of ten American men wasn't questioned. No one even paid them any attention, so they pretty much did whatever they - or Jason - wanted to.

Jason didn't care and it wasn't his problem. He understood the need to 'secure the scene' but since he and his team were prohibited and barred from doing so, he avoided the authorities and rescue workers and focused on finding his missing men. He quickly assumed control and put his team's training, knowledge and experience to work.

They arrived, strolled in, separated into two's:

Jason and Trent  
Ray and Brock  
Eric and Chris  
Kenny and Chuck  
Karl and Greg

Because, oh hell no, Support's Tier Two unit, the half in country with Bravo, hadn't flown out…..and commenced search and rescue.

Lisa had sent them armed with maps of the entertainment complex. The stores, café's, restaurants, movie theater, bowling alley, bar and night club.

Clay had said they were in the bowling alley and they were operating under the assumption the four were together. When Ray doubtfully questioned that assumption, both Brock and Jason insisted that Clay, if possible, wouldn't have separated from the others. Wes would be with him because Clay would feel the newbie was his responsibility and Matt and Seth would have deferred to Clay.

Jason gave orders: Do what you can. Help whoever needs it. Don't get in anyone's way. Don't let anyone know who or what you are. Radio when you find any of them.

Radio, meant walkie-talkies because they had the best chance of actually communicating with one another using them then trying to depend on cell or satellite signals.

The teams spread out and armed with shovels, axes, crowbars, hammers, the search began.

Lisa and Sonny reported what they were learning and seeing, including those found dead, hurt, injured, were being transported to two local hospitals.

Yes, Lisa had already sent someone to verify whether or not any of the bodies or injured taken to the hospitals were any of their own.  
Yes, they would remain at the hospital, as long as people continued to arrive.  
No, none of their missing teammates had called in.  
Yes, she would notify them immediately if they did.  
Good luck.

***000***

Clay stirred with a moan. It took a few minutes, but he finally remembered what had happened. The attack; running, scooping up Wes, following Matt and Seth, the floor giving way beneath their feet, falling, then nothing.

Clay remained where he was, as he was, while he let his mind think about rejoining awareness. It was a slow process. He didn't think he'd passed out, had just been stunned because he could still hear screaming, blasts, gunshots, chaos….all above him. So, it hadn't been all that long since they'd fallen through the floor into the club below the bowling alley. Maybe. Maybe not. His brain had yet to kick into its 'full working ability'.

Yeah, that was a guess. He couldn't see anything and the more alert he became, the less noises he heard. Maybe he'd been unconscious longer than he thought. Or maybe his disorientation was that great, 'cause wow, he had one wicked headache.

Hot damn, he had to wrestle his head into submission, and it was a battle.

He had no idea how much of the building had fallen but thought he was out of the line of immediate danger. As minutes ticked by, he realized he was not in severe, crippling pain and was able to move. He sat up on his knees, ass on his heels, felt himself up and down all over, decided he was all in one piece - head included, damn - looked around, saw a body not far from where he sat.

"Wes?" Coughing, he crawled closer. "Wes? Hey?"

Wes was in a heap. Clay sucked his breath in, the newbie's body looked…broken. Dear God, don't let him be dead. Clay pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, confirmed it was indeed Wes, felt for a pulse, blew his breath out in relief when he found it strong and steady.

There was no one else - alive or dead - anywhere near them.

He felt Wes over for injury, found only the wound on his right arm…gun shot. Not good, bullet lodged firmly in his bicep and Clay wasn't about to try and dig it out.

He had his pocket knife, but no water, no bandages…..he eyed Wes's flannel shirt, okay he had bandages. Could stop the bleeding and protect the wound from dirt, it was the best he could do.

Holding the flashlight between his teeth – he wasn't as good holding it steady as Trent was, it wobbled, but then he lacked the years of experience Trent had doing it – he used his pocket knife to tear the flannel into strips and bandages, quickly and efficiently dressed the wound to stop the bleeding.

He was searching Wes's pockets for his cell phone when the building shuddered, shook. Debris and dirt rained and Clay had just enough time to throw himself over Wes before once again, the floor gave way, taking them with it.

()()()

Darkness  
Dust  
No air  
Hard to breathe  
Pain  
Disorientation

Clay stirred, fighting every level of consciousness his brain sought to acknowledge. He didn't want to wake up, wondered if the campaign his head was leading to kill him, would win. 'Cause Jesus Fucking Christ - _it hurt!_

He tried to move, felt a heavy weight on his legs, couldn't feel his arms, quelled his rising panic, panted until he coughed. The thick dust he was breathing in despite how shallow he tried to inhale caused him to choke. He struggled to breathe until his vision went white and he tipped on the edge of unconsciousness.

"No you don't." Wade squatted beside Clay, slapped at his cheeks. "Clay? Hey. Wake up, don't fade on me. You were trying to move. Come on. Wake up."

Clay groaned, the nagging voice repeatedly calling his name was not familiar and not seeing the need to respond to it, he ignored it. The continued slaps to his face however…..

"That's it." Wes encouraged, loathe to do anything more than attempt to slap Clay awake. He had no idea if the sniper had been hurt in the building collapse, shot or incapacitated from the fall. "Come on dude, don't leave me hanging." Every moan and groan and gasp and grunt as Clay fought to come around made Wes a little more scared. "Your boss is going to kill me." Slap, slap, slap. "You don't want that?" Slap, slap. "Do you?" Slap. "I don't."

"Staa-ooopp." Clay finally slurred, cheek stinging, head pounding. "Doan…..n't." Good Christ, he had two cheeks, smack the other one once in a while, why don't you.

Wes sighed in relief, slid his feet slid out, sat down hard on his ass. Clay was waking up….now to see how alive he was.

"You good man? Breathe through your mouth close to the floor as you can." Wes advised. He found it as hard to breathe in all the dust and smoke as Clay did, so he took his own advice, laid down on his back. "You're lying on your arms." Wes told Clay at his grunt and flailing. "Scared to move you, so I let you be."

Clay nodded, cheek against the floor scraping something hard and rough, so he stopped moving his head. Wes couldn't see him anyway. So, he was on his stomach….explained why Wes slapped the hell out of only one cheek.

Breathing through his mouth because his nose was clogged, not because Wes had told him to, he swallowed dust but was able to breathe with only an occasional cough and slight choking. It dried his mouth out though and he tongued his teeth, smacked his lips, succeeded only in chewing more dust. Yuck.

Mustering his strength, he tried to pull his knees toward his stomach, but the weight on his legs pinned him tightly to the floor. All he could move was his hips and that did not gain him his freedom.

"My….legs." Clay panted. "Traw...apped?"

Wes took a breath, rolled over, spun around on his belly so his head was next to Clay's feet, felt with his hands. "Big beam or some kind of wood. Gonna move it, let me know you feel any pain, 'k?"

Clay had no idea what Wes was saying, fighting with his head to cease and desist its attempts to squish everything within his skull and ooze it out his ears.

Wes sat up. It was harder to breathe further away from the floor, but he swung up to his knees, pushed to his feet, grabbed the wood beam that laid across Clay's lowers legs and lifted.

"Can…you…move?" He grunted as he stood. Short of breath, coughing, the beam heavy, his arm aching and shaking, he couldn't hold it long. He kicked Clay in his calf to get his attention. Not hard, he had neither the strength nor the coordination from such an awkward angle, but it was enough to spur Clay into action.

On his belly, Clay slid left, found his way blocked, slid right, gained ground, wiggled his hands out from where they were trapped at his waist, pushed up and rolled away.

"Clear!" Clay coughed, pushed up on his hands and knees but was unable to raise his head. Head hanging, he weaved, then went down on his shoulder.

Wes dropped the length of beam, sat down abruptly. The cloud of dust from the dropped beam forced them to bury their face in their arms in an attempt to breathe.

Finally, the dust settled and breathing became easier but before Wes could reach for Clay, he rolled to his back, pulled his knees up, kept his feet flat on the floor, let his legs splay. "Shit."

"Phone's trashed." Wes said finally, remembered seeing Clay's shot out of his hand, sighed in disappointment.

"No chance of a signal anyway." Clay commented hoarsely. "How long we been, uh….." He groaned, punched the floor with the bottom of his fist. Missing. He was missing. Again. "Shit." He sighed, rebelling head momentarily forgotten. "I'm missing." He muttered with a wince. "Sonofabitch."

Oh, he would never, ever, gloat again. Nope.

"No, but it had a full charge." Wes responded bitterly. "Has a flashlight. Would be nice to….."

A small but bright light cut a beam through the dust accompanied by a hiss and a grunt. Even with the light shining away from him, pain sliced from one ear to the other so Clay closed his eyes. Didn't really help much.

Wes blinked as the beam darted up, down, all around. "You carry a flashlight?" He said incredulously. "Jesus man!" He didn't catch the hiss or grunt or match it to the fact the light caused Clay pain. "Wow! Cool!"

It was a small, LED flashlight on a key ring, no big deal, but it got the job done. Clay frowned, remembered pulling it from his pocket before to look for Wes, but he didn't remember putting it back in his pocket. Must have though…huh.

"Dude, you've got a lot to learn." Clay winced. "Damn." He sucked in his breath, turned off the light. "Ow."

"Where you hurt?" Wes asked instantly. "Lemme see." The 'ow' finally clued him in. "What'd you break? Is it bad?"

"I'm good," Clay began but Wes took the key ring from his limp hand, flashed the light over him. Clay kept an arm over his eyes. The curse told him he must look pretty bad, because next thing he knew, Wes was feeling him up and down, patting and poking. "The fuck you doing?"

"Where're you bleeding from?" Wes asked anxiously, hands on Clay's chest, stomach, side. "How bad is it? It serious? Roll over. Lemme see your back."

"I'm not!" Clay scowled. "Get the light out of my face." He slapped at Wes's hand, made weak contact.

"You're covered in blood." Wes insisted. "And, uh…..I dunno, something. Maybe you just don't feel it yet….."

"Not mine." But he let Wes fuss until he was convinced Clay didn't have a bone protruding through his skin somewhere. If he hadn't and Trent or Jason found out, oohh, he'd be eating MRE's even at home. "Happy?" He tried for sarcasm, but his voice was shaky.

Damn.

He swallowed, dismayed to feel his hands were shaking. He blinked, but the images and memories of bodies being blown apart didn't fade. Yeah, that was gonna take some time. Probably some counseling. He blew the heads off people daily, never batted an eye…..let it be civilians, innocent families and kids and he fought not to puke.

Funny how shit worked. Suicide vests and lobbed hand bombs blew one person out of their shoes, limbs off another and the man standing right next to them was splattered with their blood, skin and bones but remained otherwise unharmed.

So, was he shaking from stunned shock over what had happened? What he'd been through? That a bullet had come so close to his head, the phone he'd held to his ear after crashing through a table had been shot out of his hand and he still had all five fingers? And his ear? Or that he'd survived a shooting, bombing, building collapse and two falls? Or was he hurt somewhere?

He shuddered, goosebumps prickling from his neck down to his tail bone, spread across his shoulders.

"Yeah, just…..dunno." Wes didn't know Clay well enough to notice the hitch in his voice followed by silence for what it was – discomfort, pain. "Just….the light….and then seeing…..all that blood…..and if it's not yours, then bomb or bullet got someone and…..well, it cudda been you."

"You good?" Clay clenched his hands into fists, rotated his ankles, scrunched his toes. Yup, could feel every moment. His head though…not so good. He sat up, felt dizzy, weaved, swayed until he rested his shoulder against a section of crumbled wall. He squinted as Wes turned the light on himself to show Clay he was all in one piece. "Nothing broken then?"

Wes frowned. "Uh, yeah…you…." He paused. "You okay?"

Clay was able to wrestle his head into submission by allowing concern for Wes to override his own misery. It would be temporary and when he lost the ability to subdue the rebellion his head was launching at him, he would pay for it dearly, but teammates came first. He got to his feet, hand against a section of wall that was sturdy enough to support his weight even if dirt and mortar crumbled beneath his fingers.

"Yeah, why?" He lied. Ordering himself to pull it together, he collected his wits and began to explore. He wasn't able to hide much from Bravo any more. Trent was on him if he bit his lip over something stupid, like the meal was too salty and Sonny always had his nose where it had no business being, personal life included. And Jason? Pfft!

But this guy? Yeah, he didn't have a fucking clue how to deal with Clay Spenser. Poor dude.

"You…..you did this." Wes stammered. "My arm." He added when he turned the light around and saw Clay's blank look. He had no idea when Clay was lying or evading the truth or skirting the issue. "You...you don't see the sling?"

"Well, yeah." Clay bluffed. He didn't remember anything about Wes's arm. He felt for his knife, yup, in his pocket. He remembered removing it, but not returning it. Damn, same with the flashlight. "I, uh, cut up your shirt." God, he hoped he was guessing right. He would have made a bandage, attempted to stop the bleeding, but make a sling? Yeah, no.

He pulled the knife from his pocket, set it on a rock. His .9mm joined it.

"Yeah." Wes blew his breath out in relief. "Think I got shot. I just used the rest of my shirt for a sling. Takes some pressure off my shoulder, feels better."

"You...d...did." Clay stammered. "The first time we...went...through the...floor..." He once again accepted support from the wall, wasn't able to go any further. Fuck, he didn't feel good.

Wes's relief fled. "Uh, Clay? Dude, we were in the bowling alley. Only thing below us was the nightclub. Just one floor."

"We fell twice." Annoyed, Clay thumbed behind his ears, tried to ease the tightening vise that was attempting to make his ears meet one another behind his head. He offered Wes two gel-caps. Wasn't a SEAL alive who couldn't dry swallow pills. "Won't do much, but better than nothing." He had two packets left. They joined the knife and gun. "I...my legs...were trapped...I...wrapped your arm..." He winced, nostrils flaring as he tried to breath through stabbing pain. "...before." He managed to point, "up...there."

True, when Wes had woken up, Clay had been trapped, but he thought it more likely the debris had shifted then they'd fallen through another floor. Wes let it go, wasn't worth arguing over. He wasn't surprised Clay was confused.

"Hate to see your purse, you were a girl." Wes teased. "You got everything in those pockets." He turned off the flashlight, set it next to the knife.

"You good?" Clay asked, rubbed his forehead. He'd never had a headache like this before. It wasn't from too much salt or caffeine – or not enough caffeine, whatever. And it didn't feel at all like the numerous times he'd whacked it or been whacked in the head – and he'd know - he'd been whacked numerous times on every part of his head.

Yeah, it was dark and dusty, but still, his vision was hazy, like he was viewing what was in front of him through wavy, thick blocks of glass. No amount of blinking or squinting or eye rubbing made him see clearly either. If anything, it made his vision worse, and now he was trying to see through a rain-splattered windshield.

He didn't like that feeling, that sensation, at all.

"I'm good. Shoulder's sore, banged it. Sling helps." Wes repeated worriedly. Clay had already asked that, and Wes had already answered. "You sure you're okay?"

Clay patted his last pocket, groaned. "Sat phone's in the truck," he told Wes with a wince, another hitch in his voice. "Man, I'm gonna get...get chewed out for that." He sighed despondently. "Fuck me."

"Sat phone?"

"Mmmm." He rubbed his forehead the opposite direction, massaged with his thumbs. Now that he knew Wes was okay, he was having a hard time making his head understand that he didn't want a war. "Supposed to always have it with me...I'm gonna…." He swallowed hard, licked his lips. "...fall down."

"What? Wait! No. Not a good idea." Wes said, alarmed. "Why?"

Clay rolled his eyes, lost his balance, the wall kept him on his feet.

"Head…..uh…ow…..hurts." Clay said thickly. Oh-oh. His head was winning. "Going down."

"Yeah dude, I gotcha." Wes reached for Clay as he began a slow descent towards the floor but Clay flinched away. "Feel like puking?"

Clay shook his head, groaned. He really shouldn't do that, made the wall move. Was the wall leaning? It was leaning. Or maybe he was.

"Okay, you should rest. You hit your head?" He hesitated. Maybe letting Clay sleep wasn't such a good idea after all.

"It hurts." Clay murmured. His vision tunneled, flared, tunneled, widened - white bursts of lights made him stagger. "Turn….turn off." He winced, caught his weight by bracing his palms flat against the wall. "Kill the lights."

"Did you hit it? Concussion?" Wes paused. Clay hadn't liked the flashlight in his face but there were no other lights, nothing to turn off. That couldn't be good, he was seeing stars, burst of lights. "How bad?" He hadn't felt for any lumps or bumps or gashes on Clay's head, wondered if he should. Would it matter? What could he do about it?

He had no ice, no cold water, not even a pillow.

"Bad 'nuff." Clay murmured thickly. He was fast losing the battle with his head, didn't hear Wes if he answered. "Ow!"

"What's with you?" It wasn't totally pitch-dark and as more dust settled and their eyes adjusted, they were able to see the shadow of one another. "Clay?" Wes questioned uncertainly when Clay wavered, stumbled. "You….the hell!" He yelled when Clay clutched his palms to his forehead and with a yelp, went hard to his knees.

Bottom lip between his teeth, Clay stifled a groan. With his head pounding sickly, his arms and legs didn't know how to respond to his request to relax and go limp, so he stayed where he was, kneeling on his knees, hands clutching his ears and succumbed to the demands of his head which rendered him immobile.

"Hey, ok, I've got you?" Wes spoke quietly, told Clay he was going to take hold of his shoulder and help him lie down. He kicked aside large chunks of rock and debris and dirt then guided Clay onto his hip and down onto his side.

Clay was tense, rigid - wasn't moving at all - and Wes didn't know if it were due to a blinding headache, some injury he didn't know about or merely Clay's unfamiliarity with him.

"Sssh, you're good." Wes said, not sure what to do or how to help Clay. "Can you talk to me? Hey?" He didn't want to try slapping the sniper awake again and he was lying down, and not puking, so he thought it best to leave Clay alone, see if he slept it off.

Wes took the flashlight and began another exploration of the room. With the light, he saw a slow-moving, continuous trickle of dirt sliding down from the broken ceiling in a corner that he thought perhaps he could dig through, see if there was another room on the other side.

With his arm hurting, his body aching from both the explosion and fall, he returned to rest beside Clay.

"Any...thing?" Clay slurred after a while, waking Wes from his light doze.

"There's some loose dirt, might be able to dig through…."

"We stay." Clay stirred, tried to lift his head. Nope, wasn't gonna happen. "Stay...put."

"Why? We should…if we can find a way out, we should….."

"They will find us."

"Who will?"

"Bravo."

Wes sat up, looked at Clay oddly, now convinced his headache or head injury had really fucked him up. Swollen brain? Bleeding brain? Bruised brain? Did brains break?

Yeah, okay Wes, duh, he chided himself mentally. Pull it together.

"Spense….Clay, no they won't." Wes said gently. "They've already flown out. Would have left at the first hint of an attack."

"You...don't...know...them."

True, Wes didn't know Bravo, but he knew the Navy and its rules and regulations and policies.

"The higher ups won't allow them to remain," began Wes. "Blackburn would have….."

"They'll...come." Clay insisted, voice thick. "They...won't...they won't...leave me behind."

Wes shook his head. "They won't have a choice. They have to obey orders and those orders would have been to leave."

Clay tried to sit up. Wes noticed he didn't move quickly or easily. Most likely he was tightening up after the fall, but that was a good guess. Christ, what if Clay was somehow hurt internally? Dammit, why wasn't any of his first aid training making any sense now?

"Hey, hey, it's ok. Stay down. They….." Wes tried again to get through to Clay. "Armed military won't be welcome here. They – Bravo, a team like them, can't come down here. They're...you...you're an assault team, not officially here."

"Guys will kill me, we get arrested." He paused, imagined Blackburn getting on that, shuddered. "Can't leave." He had no doubt Blackburn would see to their release from jail, but it would come at a cost. A high one. And Clay was tired of always putting his team at risk and Blackburn in positions where he was forced to negotiate and compromise to get Clay back or bail his ass out of trouble. "They'll come."

Wes gaped. What the fuck was he even talking about?! Arrested?

"Okay," Wes countered. "Say, they did manage to stay, somehow found their way to town, started looking for us, how are they ever going to find us?"

Clay didn't know or care, just knew they would. "They will. They always do."

Wes noticed Clay's words slurred together, his voice was weaker, thought it best to let him get some rest.

"Okay," he sighed. Sure, sure…..if they didn't suffocate or dehydrate before they were found. "How's the head?"

"Trying to kill me." Came the soft, muted reply.

"Try and get some sleep, 'k?" Wes picked up the flashlight. "I won't…..just gonna dig, see if it leads to another room. Maybe…..Maybe someone is….maybe I can find a cell, see if there's a signal. Okay?"

"I'll help." Clay moved his feet, Wes put a hand on his shoulder.

"Rest a bit first." Wes said. "We got time."


	5. Chapter 5

I'm really missing the 9 o'clock time slot.

*sigh*

Waiting for Season 3 renewal - Hey, CBS? Do not take David Boreanaz away from me! He's been in my living room since the days of Buffy! - by consuming large quantities of tootsie rolls and diet Coke...not good CBS! My teeth (and Dentist) will not thank you.

* * *

Top side, Eric ended up in command of operations without any plans to do so. People just responded to him and he soon had the rescue workers organized and efficiently working. The authorities were busy with the shooters and bombers and once Jason and Eric determined there was no further threat from those who had launched the attack, search and rescue began in earnest.

Lisa kept them apprised, checked in every 15 minutes:

World leaders were already responding; sending aid, workers, supplies, machinery.  
The base had been contacted for help, it had been sent.  
No, no one had called in.  
No, no one had found any of the missing four men at either hospital.  
No, none had shown up at any police station, first aid station or any other safe place.  
So far, over seventy were reported deceased, over fifty rescued alive, hundreds still missing.  
The three level entertainment complex was so large, even with trained rescue workers and heavy machinery, it would take days to search everywhere.  
Sonny had taken a jeep, was driving the road to town just to make sure no one was trying to walk back to base.  
Of course, she'd keep them updated.  
Yes, they had eyes on the town, the surrounding area, the disaster site, the relief efforts.  
She would Sonny with food and water, would arrange for a place for Bravo to meet him.  
God be with them.

()()()

As the hours passed, Bravo couldn't help but become discouraged. They were tired, exhausted really, emotionally shot. Searching, digging, pulling, lifting, carrying, was both physically and mentally trying. As relief efforts became organized and command was taken by relief organizational leaders, it became harder for Bravo to fade into the crowds of people and remain unnoticed. Because it was obvious, they weren't just some Joe Blow off the street.

It didn't matter, not really, no one could force them to leave, but it would change their ability to do things their way.

They all had the same thoughts. Their teammates could have survived the shooting, the bombing, the building collapse only to die of suffocation, injuries they may have suffered or the building collapsing on them further when backhoes and bulldozers began moving debris.

Eric was against using such machinery so soon, but there was nothing he could do about it. He had no voice and no official way to make anyone listen to him.

Time continued to pass...despite prayers and pleas, the universe failed to halt and allow Bravo...time.

Cerberus was resting, but his ears and nose were ever on alert. Having had a bite to eat and some water, he snoozed at Brock's feet while his humans sat and ate. He wore protective booties and boy did he hate those things. He thought about gnawing them off, but they did help his paws not hurt so much and he was soooo tired, and….

Brock paused, ham sandwich half eaten, when Cerberus suddenly pricked one ear, then the other. A second later, the dog's head came up and his nose started twitching. Another second and he was on his haunches, tail thumping….

"WOOF!" He stood, tail wagging. He looked at Brock who nodded and he was off.

By the time Brock and Ray got to their feet and started after the dog, he was leading Matt back to them.

"Jason?" Ray keyed the walkie-talkie. "Cerberus found Matt."

Brock hugged Matt until Ray pried them apart for his turn. It wasn't long before all of Bravo arrived and soon, they had the story that Matt knew.

He and Seth had been ahead of Clay and Wes when the first explosion went off. They'd turned back, but had lost sight of their teammates and had no opportunity to return to look for them. He and Seth had been trapped with several other people in the bowling alley until rescuers had found and dug them free. Matt was okay, had refused medical care and gone in search of either a phone or a security camera where he'd hoped Randy and Davis would be able to see and identify him. Seth had a broken arm, bad leg, had just been taken off on a stretcher by rescue workers.

Far as he knew, Wes and Clay had been on the other side of the bar, closer to the bowling lanes…..that floor, with the extra weight, had given away, collapsed to the room below.

Ray got out the maps.

Jason called Sonny, who after delivering the food and water, was on his way back to the base, had him turn around to come get Matt, find Seth and return them both to the care of Doc.

Cerberus got half a ham sandwich.

Armed with new information, Bravo regrouped and resumed their search.

***000***

Only Clay wore a watch and it had somehow shattered in the fall, leaving them unable to track the passage of time. Davis was going to have a fit. It was guaranteed to be indestructible. Eh, maybe there was fine print somewhere that read; 'not guaranteed when owner/wearer is blown up, shot at and trapped beneath rubble when a building falls on them.

They were both thirsty, tired. Wes was hungry. The darkness and eerie silence wore them down. They thought they'd hear sounds of rescue, people shouting, screaming, motors, alarms, bells, whistles, sirens…..but nothing. They heard nothing. Not even the moans of people dying.

Clay had given Wes the last two gel-caps and they'd worn off some time ago. His arm, left untreated was hot and crusty, gave him pain clear up to his shoulder and when he moved it or lifted anything of weight, his muscles seized and he had no strength in his wrist.

He pretty much dug one handed. Used whatever he found in the debris.

And Clay?

Wes was pretty damn worried about Clay.

Clay was listless, responded less, slept longer, woke up slower, didn't want to wake up at all. Wes had to wake him up and had a hard time doing so. When he did, there was confusion, some disorientation, but thankfully, no nausea. Clay was slow and clumsy, complained his head hurt, wanted to sleep.

Wes couldn't get him to sit up or lift his head from the floor.

When he forced him to attempt to focus and respond, Clay resisted, was cross and irritable….because trying to think was useless. It made his head revolt, which soured his stomach which caused chest pains, because he couldn't breathe so he gave up without expanding much effort.

And that scared Wes shitless.

Clay wanted no part of consciousness. The pain in his head was not tolerable. The room was dark, shadows were all that was visible, there was no light and yet, he opened his eyes and the 4th of July fireworks went off - so he kept them closed.

Had it been Trent, hell, anyone from Bravo, even Davis or Blackburn, Clay would have responded, they wouldn't have left him alone until he did, but Wes? Wes didn't demand he wake up or order him to open his eyes and pay attention, so he did neither.

()()()

Wes was finally able to dig a hole big enough he could pop his head through. He flashed the light around, it wasn't strong enough to light up the room, but what it did show disheartened him.

It was hard to be certain, but it looked like the entire ceiling had fallen and three walls had blown out. The destruction on the other side was greater - much greater and there was no way out that he could see. Should he chance crawling through to the other room, search for water or a cell phone? A way out? Maybe someone was alive, doubtful though.

The hole was neither firm nor steady, dirt and mortar and debris continued to trickle, slide and fall and crumble. He cast a dubious glance up, it could collapse and fill back in at any moment and he had no idea if the room beyond was secure. He heard creaking and cracking, like the ceiling or what was left of the walls would give way at moment. If he went through, and couldn't get back, he'd be alone and would be leaving Clay alone.

He didn't like that idea. And it wasn't because Jason has told him watching Clay was his job.

But...but, if he could find a phone, water...Clay wasn't doing so hot...he needed help...Wes needed help...and that there was a woman's shoe...and where there was a woman's shoe, there was usually a purse, and in that purse might be a phone.

He went through with a prayer that:

He'd find a phone.  
The phone would get a signal.  
It wasn't locked and he could dial out.  
He'd find something to drink.  
The hole would hold so he could return to Clay.

He should have more specific with his prayer.

He found a phone.  
It got a signal.  
It wasn't locked.

But he hadn't prayed for:

A full battery; it was flashing low, had less than 9% life left.  
Water; he found a bottle of vodka.  
The hole would hold until his entire body was through it; it collapsed on his foot and he had to frantically dig and kick his way through before, with a cloud of dust, chunks of concrete that would have crushed his foot filled the hole and they were permanently sealed off from the other room.

Exhausted but elated, he crawled over to Clay, sat down to catch his breath. After a moment, he cracked open the vodka, took small sips.

Now, he needed to think. Needed to decide who to call. He had enough battery life for one call and he didn't think that his mom, the only number for the life of him, he could remember, would be much help. She wouldn't answer a call from an unknown number. So he'd have to leave a message and then she would have to call his emergency number for the base and if they bothered to take her seriously, would have to get through to command over here and...

Clay stirred, moving restlessly and his dog tags fell out of his shirt. Wes laughed, glad for the distraction. Sonny wasn't kidding when he said Clay didn't go anywhere without them. And Clay was right, they didn't clank. In fact, they were silent, didn't make any noise at all. That was weird.

What was weirder? There were three.

Wes turned the flashlight on, reached for them. Clay moaned, turned away from the light, heels digging into the floor but he didn't wake up.

One tag was the usual military issued tag with name, rank, religion, blood type. The second tag bore a medical alert symbol.

"Limit salt, caffeine." He ignored the medication list, it meant nothing to him. "That ain't normal. Huh."

The third tag said: 'If found, please call' followed by a phone number. That was it.

Wes drank some more vodka, debated whether or not to offer it to Clay. Alcohol wasn't good for someone with a head injury but neither was dehydration. And too much alcohol caused dehydration. Eh, the hell, Wes decided, small sips wouldn't hurt him too much. It was liquid and they needed it.

Clay didn't rouse to drink. Didn't part his lips or lick with his tongue when Wes tipped the bottle to his lips. It was when Wes reached to hold his chin that he felt the heat of Clay's skin.

"Fuck, no way." Wes breathed. If anyone should be feverish, it should be him, with a bullet in his arm. What the hell would Clay be running a fever from? He hadn't missed an injury, had he? He didn't think so. He checked again. Nope, no bones sticking through skin anywhere.

And thank the Good Lord for that.

Wes tried again to offer Clay the vodka. This time, he dribbled from the bottle slowly and Clay parted his lips and accepted the offering. Until he swallowed, then he came up sputtering and spitting until Wes rolled him onto his side and thumped his back in alarm.

Okay, won't do that again.

Once Clay was finally quiet and still, Wes gulped more vodka. He sat and stupidly studied the number on the dog tag for another wasted five minutes. It was an American phone number with a Virginia zip code.

He had two choices: Call his mom or the number on the dog tag. He doubted 911 would do him any good.

Praying he wasn't making a huge mistake, he picked up the phone and tapped in the number from the dog tag.

The call was answered but all he heard were clicks - come on, come on! On a dead battery here - until finally, a good minute later, he heard a computerized voice say;

"Code in."

Now this had not once been addressed in any form during his training – ever.

God, please don't let the phone die before someone talks to me!

"Ah, Westin Niles." He gave his rank and serial number. "I'm calling about Clay Spenser." He read Clay's rank and serial number off his dog tag. "I got this number from his dog tag."

"Your coordinates?"

There, that sounded more human. "I don't have them. Listen this phone is about to die...we..."

Sonny had just returned from delivering Seth to the infirmary. Doc had checked Matt over and released him but Seth was getting his arm set and would be spending the night.

Matt had headed for the showers and something to eat, then would join them in command. Sonny's ankle was killing him. Oh, he'd abused it, no doubt. Doc had given him some Demerol and he'd taken them with a sandwich and glass of milk. He wanted to go to bed with a bag of ice but his needs and desires would wait until Clay and Wes were found and back on base.

A bum ankle was nothing compared to having a fucking building collapse with you inside.

He hobbled into command, didn't even fuss when Lisa gave up her chair so he could sit down. He was exhausted and he couldn't stand on one foot. He hadn't seen his crutches since...well, they were somewhere. He was in the process of raising his leg to rest his foot on the table when Randy smacked the desk with an open palm.

"DAVIS!" Randy bellowed over the noise in the command center. He stood up. "LEE-ZA?!"

That did it. The room went utterly silent, no one moved. No one ever called Davis by her first name.

"I got Wes!" Randy yipped excitedly.

"How?" Lisa demanded. "How did...?"

"He called in on the number from Clay's dog tag!"

"Dog tag?" Sonny forgot his exhaustion, pushed with his foot, wheeled over to Randy. "Gimme." He waggled his fingers for the phone. "GIMME the FUCKING phone!"

Brock had teased, one night when they were all well into their cups, about adding the third dog tag. If Cerberus had an I.D. tag to identify who he belonged to, then Clay should have one as well. Bravo had laughed at the joke, but two days later, Blackburn had presented Clay with his third tag.

Of course, Clay hadn't been thrilled with being compared to 'how to keep track of a dog', but he'd been voted down and out numbered. Even the kid couldn't deny how many times his team lost him.

Randy rolled his eyes, he was already holding the phone out. Sonny snatched it, patted Randy on the shoulder in apology.

"Talk to me!" He barked. "Wes? Clay!?"

Lisa hung over Randy's shoulder as he began the process of tracing the call and finding its location via GPS.

"Get the number of the phone he's on." Randy ordered. Why, no one knew and no one cared. What Randy wanted, Randy would get. "Put him on speaker."

"It's not mine, I took it off a body. It's going dead any second."

"IPhone or Android?" Randy fired rapidly, snapped his fingers, adjusted his headset. "Speak!" Even Sonny went silent, let Randy take lead.

"Android." Baffled, Wes answered the question as his training dictated. He thought there were more important questions to ask him, but he didn't argue. "Uh, how?"

"Settings, system, about phone." Randy rattled off. "Get on it." He urged impatiently. He wanted that number before the phone went dead. Wes read off the number. Why Randy wanted it or what he was going to do with it was beyond Wes. Made no fucking sense, but whatever.

"Where are you?" Sonny asked once Randy nodded it was okay for him to speak. "Is Clay with you? Is he okay? Are you?"

"Clay's down." Wes said. "He, uh, took a hard hit to the head. We're trapped. Fell through the floor into the nightclub." Sure, sure, ask about Spenser first. He wanted to ask questions, explain what had happened, but he didn't, let Randy and Sonny control the conversation.

Clay stirred, hearing Sonny's voice because Wes had the phone on speaker.

"Are you alone?" Sonny asked.

"Just me and Clay here. I was able to dig through a wall, see into another room...it didn't look like anyone survived, stole this phone." Wes spoke quickly. "Room is destroyed."

Clay was cold and uncomfortable and he didn't want to be where he was and whenever he wanted something, someone on Bravo granted his wish and this time, his wish was to be gone from this place.

"Son...nee? Fell….two-four." He slurred. "Come...get...me."

And the phone went dead.

Everyone in the room stared at Sonny. Lisa expected an explosion. Randy expected a temper-tantrum. But Sonny very slowly set the phone down on a table, covered his face with his hands, did nothing.

Activity within the room exploded.

"Did you get it?"

"We trace it?"

"Do we know where they are?"

"Can we lock in on a dead, unknown phone?"

"Got her."

"Access its contact list. Someone on it might be with her, their phone still active."

"Ping them all."

"I'm in her cell phone account."

"Check her social media, see if she posted who she's out with."

"Got it. I'm in."

"Let's narrow it down people!"

Lisa left Randy on his own, knelt next to Sonny. "You okay?"

"No."

"He's alive Sonny." Lisa said gently. "Hang onto that."

"For how much longer?" Sonny said morosely. "Time's running out Davis. How do I..." he swallowed. "He survives a bombing and a building collapse, then...doesn't make it because we couldn't find him in time."

"Don't think like that." Lisa patted his knee. "Gotta call Jason, come on. They need to know he's alive Sonny."

"I need the jeep again."

"No." Lisa stood up. "You need a convoy truck. Something big enough to bring back twelve men and a dog."

"Thirteen." Doc said. "I'm driving in with him."

And there was no one in command to tell him he couldn't.

"We need blankets, hot coffee, hot soup, sandwiches." Doc clapped his hands. "Towels, hot water, ice. Those men are going to be tired, sore, banged up and hungry and it's an hour drive back here."

()()()

Jason was taking a break, letting Trent dab antiseptic on his cracked knuckle, skinless backs of hands, split palms, all ground with dirt from digging bare-handed, gloves lost somewhere at some time.

They'd all met up to get something to eat, check in with one another, sit and sulk.

His sat phone buzzed, he let Brock dig it out of his pocket because Trent growled at him when he tried to pull his hand away from the medic to do it on his own.

"This is Bra..." He began. "Wait, what? GUYS!" He thumbed speaker - wow, these new, state-of-the-art sat phones were awesome! "Say that again!"

"Got 'em." Sonny said breathlessly.

"Talk to me!" Jason ordered, tugging his hand and losing, Trent held tight, ignored Jason's death glare.

"Wes called the number on Clay's dog tag from a phone that went dead. Randy and his geek squad were able to get info on the phone's owner...they're pinging phones from her contact list, see if any show up in the building with her."

"Did he say where they were?" Ray asked, already pulling out the now well-worn maps.

"Fell through the floor to the night club."

Ray shook his head. "We've reached that level. No survivors."

The maps unfolded, everyone save Trent and Jason huddled over them. Discussion became disagreements, then arguments, but not heated and none in anger - more frustration than anything.

"Tell me what he said." Jason said again as Trent painted his numerous cuts and scrapes with iodine, then covered the worst abrasions with Inadine dressings and wrapped his hands in bandages, leaving his fingers loose.

"Wear these." Trent slapped a pair of work gloves in Jason's lap, got up. His attention was called and he went over to see what Chuck wanted.

Lisa and Randy followed the same map Bravo did, discussed and discarded options, ideas, possibilities. Sonny and Doc had left command to gather supplies.

"The movie theater level has been cleared." Karl said. "We were down to the bowling alley. They're already in the nightclub. All that is left is the nightclub bathrooms under the lanes that support the pins."

"Heavy equipment will destroy whatever walls are giving support."

"The chances of survival under that extra weight are nil."

"Then we need to stop them from proceeding with the backhoes."

"So where are they?"

"Play us the phone call." Eric ordered, knew without doubt it had been recorded.

Randy cued it up, played it over and over while Bravo dissected it.

"Wes knew where they were when the floor gave way and they fell."

"Nightclub."

"What the hell is Spenser babbling about?"

"Two-four?"

"The hell that mean?"

"Wes said he took a hit to the head."

"So, ten-four?"

"Aww, man! Sonny flipped his lid, he heard that."

"Kid wants him to come get him."

"Get Trent."

"TRENT!"

"Yeah, if anyone can make sense of 'Clay slur', it's him."

Everyone talked at once, pointed to places on the map, held the map and turned to face the destroyed complex, turned the map this way and that way, listened to the recorded phone call, did calculations in their heads, held their hands up to frame dimensions, made shapes by touching fingers.

"Yeah?" Trent rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "What's up?"

"What the hell is Spenser saying?" Ray said. They fell quiet so Trent could listen to the recording.

"They fell two floors." Yup, if anyone was adept in Clay slur, it was him.

"That mean anything to anyone?"

"What is this date?"

"Anyone got blue prints?"

"Davis, was this place renovated?"

"That! Right there. What's that?"

"A basement?"

"The fuck? There's no basement on these maps…"

"Davis get me those blue prints!"

"We've been clearing a floor they ain't even on?"

"Got the blue prints." Davis said. "There's a storage cellar under a section of the nightclub. Yeah not on the map. Only way in is – was – a flight of stairs behind the bathrooms via a closet."

Ray traced the map, tapped his finger on the bathrooms. "Right there."

"Let's go." Jason shouldered his shovel, picked up an axe. "We don't have a lot of time."

***000***

The phone dead, Wes set it aside, tried to rouse Clay who had relapsed into a stupor, remained non-responsive, gave up and laid down. He wasn't feeling all that great himself.

Clay licked his lips; as long as he didn't move, didn't twitch a toe, wiggle a finger or breathe too deeply, he was able to manage his headache without screaming...it was a struggle.

He was thirsty, wanted something to drink, so thirsty, he risked reaching with his hand and feeling for the bottle. He found it, curled his fingers around it, but simply could not pick it up or lift his head.

Frustrated, he whimpered. Had Sonny or Brock been with him, his wants would have been anticipated and met. Had Trent been with him, he would have been shushed with a gruff question of 'what's wrong'. But they weren't with him. No one was. He was alone and he remained thirsty.

Clay sighed, shuffled his feet uneasily, but his legs didn't want to function like they were supposed to and he didn't know how to make them. He tried to roll over, but nope, hips wouldn't work either. He lay still, panting. Why was he trying to move?

Something had disturbed him and he didn't know what. Something that wouldn't let him be content to remain quiet and still or slumber any longer.

His aching head, for the moment, at ease, forced him to acknowledge that something was annoying him. His hands moved and he felt the floor around him. He didn't know what he was searching for, didn't know how he'd know he'd found it, but search he did.

Someone – multiple someone's – were calling his name. Shouting for him. Asking him to answer. Ordering him to respond. Asking where he was. Could he hear them?

He should respond. He needed to respond. He would respond.

He didn't respond.

His throat was thick and dry and his voice a mere croak. He drifted off, the voices came closer, a dog was whining, barking….it sounded so close.

Ow.

Okay, well….if he couldn't call out, he'd bang his fist or kick his feet against the wall…didn't happen. He knew, somehow knew, the barking wouldn't stop until he responded, so biting his lip until he drew blood, hands holding his ears to keep his brain from leaking out, he rolled over, gained his elbows and knees.

His brain threw his skull against his forehead. It didn't need his ears to escape; it found an exit via his nose. The gush of blood blocked his breathing, made him choke. He spit out blood, mucus he'd breathed in when he gasped for his breath.

"SPENSER!"

"WOOF!"

The heel of one hand shoved against his nostrils, he fumbled for the rock he'd set the gun on.

The gun was heavy to hold. Too heavy. His hand dropped to the floor with a thud but he kept possession. Aiming in a direction he hoped was away from him, he flicked the safety off, pulled the trigger.

The sound of the gun shot caused Wes to jerk wake with a cry of surprise, caused Clay to pass out. He collapsed to the floor with a thud amid a growing pool of blood.

"THE HELL!?" Wes yelped, scrambling away.

Good Christ, what the hell was that?

"CLAY?"

"SPENSER?"

"WES?

"WOOF!"

"HELL-LOOO?" Wes cupped his hands, shouted back. "We're down here!" He got to his feet. "HEY! OVER HERE!"

Minutes – maybe seconds – later, the dirt above to the left began to trickle from the ceiling, told Wes where the rescuers would be digging.

"ALL CLEAR?"

"YES!" Wes yelled back. He moved to sit next to Clay when the ceiling began to shudder under the attack of shovels and axes.

It took a moment, but it occurred to Wes that they weren't asking if everyone was okay or how many survivors there were. And they knew their names.

A hole appeared, a nose wiggle through, followed by two paws and the next thing Wes knew, a ball of black and brown fur scrambled its way between two beams and jumped effortlessly to the floor.

"WOOF!" The dog lowered his head to the floor, began to sniff….bee-lined straight to Clay's side, pawed at his shoulder, licked his face. "WOOF!" He ran back to the hole, barked furiously, went up on his hind legs.

A light shone into the room from the hole. Wes blocked Clay's view of the beam as he yelled for them to turn it off.

Instantly the lighted dimmed, its brightness was muted but it remained and as Wes blinked against it, he saw the face peering down at him, cooing at the dog.

No fucking way!

"Brock?" Wes coughed in disbelief.

* * *

One more to go after this!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer - medical inconsistencies.

Oh my, the last show...hope all is well. I like the team together, you know?

* * *

"STAND CLEAR!"

A duffel bag dropped from the hole, hit the floor, made a cloud of dust, set Wes to coughing.

Trent slid feet first through the gap between what was the ceiling and a wall. More dirt and debris and rubble came with him. He landed easily on both beet, came up from a crouch as someone followed him down the same way. More duffels and backpacks were handed down.

"Uh, good to see you." Wes said hoarsely, mouth muffled against his bent elbow as he tried to breathe.

Wow, Bravo was here. _Fucking here_. They'd come after Clay Spenser just like he said they would, wow! And did what professional rescue workers had yet to do – find him.

Fans were turned on. How, Wes didn't know. Battery? Portable generator? He didn't care, all he knew was the dust and/or smoke was somehow being sucked out of the area and breathing suddenly became a whole lot easier. Must be pumping in air as well – WOW!

"Need O2?" Trent asked, stepped around him, his focus on Clay. He didn't like what he saw. Hoped it was the dim light casting false sights. "Sit."

Wes shook his head, took the bottle of water Jason - _Jason Hayes_ \- handed him but before he could raise it and drink, his wrist was caught and held. Ow! Really, no need to hold his hand so tight he'd bruise.

"Sips." Trent warned. "Rinse and spit, then hold it. You ate dust."

"Guys?" Someone yelled above. Sounded like Ray. "Gonna have to shore up couple slabs of wall up here. Stay put, we'll get back to you."

"What does that mean?" Wes obeyed Trent who hadn't even looked at him, eyes still on Clay who Cerberus stood guard over. "Who's all here? Is that Perry?"

"Means our way out is compromised." Jason knelt beside Clay, scratched Cerb's ears then gently elbowed him aside. "Sit." He ordered. "Good boy."

Trent saw the sling, cut it free, poked the bandage with a knife that had magically appeared in his hand. "You shot?"

"Uh, yeah." Wes stammered, eyes wide. That was one wicked knife the medic just oh-you-know, oh-so-nonchalantly waved around in the dark. "I'm okay. But Clay…."

Trent held Wes's chin in his palm, flashed a light in his eyes. Let the newbie's head go, squeezed his arm above the bandage, elicited a hiss. He poked Wes's fingertips and palm with the point of the knife. "Make a fist."

"He doesn't like light in his face." Wes cautioned Jason as Trent curled his fingers into a tighter fist than he would have made on his own. "Ow."

"Jesus kid." Jason ignored Wes. "What we got here?" He flashed his light around, up and down, saw one clean cheek where Cerberus had licked Clay when he'd found him. "Bet that didn't taste so good, huh bud?"

The dog whined, nudged his head under Jason's arm, received another scratch behind the ears.

"I know." Jason said softly. "I know bud. It's okay, we got him." On his knees, doubled over, cheek to the floor, flashlight in hand, he tried to peer into Clay's face.

"Wes drank more water, craned his neck to see what Jason was doing. "I'm good, right?"

"You will be." Trent agreed. "Circulation's good, hand feel numb?"

Wes shook his head. "See to Clay, he….." he tried to stand up, Trent put him right back down.

"Jason's got him." And when Jason needed him, Trent would abandon Wes without thought. "I'm not done with you yet."

"But…but…you….you're the medic." With the muted light from above and both Jason and Trent's flashlights, Wes hadn't missed the lingering looks Trent had cast Clay's way. How and when had the decision been made for the medic to see to him first and let Jason have Clay?

"And I don't need you dying on me because I believed you when you said you were okay." Trent snapped, opening zippers and flaps on the backpacks. "Sit still, shut the fuck up."

Well, that was a bit extreme, but Wes nodded, submitted. Trent cut the bandage from his arm, pulled the pad made of flannel that was stuck from dried blood free with no care or compassion. Wes bit his tongue to keep from yelping. Trent was neither careful nor gentle.

"Trent?" Jason, still on his knees, ass in the air, competing for space to see Clay's face with a fury head, sighed. He gave both Cerberus and Clay a pat on the head, pushed to his knees.

Either the tone or the simple word must have meant switch, because Trent handed Jason the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, stood up, changed places with his boss without another word being spoken by either of them.

"Don't be stingy." Trent said, moved over to Clay. "This how you were taught to do first aid?" He asked Wes who nodded dumbly, not sure what the medic meant. "You got cheated." He made a mental note to tell Blackburn all of Echo needed to learn better first aid.

"He's clothed." Jason explained at Wes's blank look. "Can't tell if he's hurt."

"Hey now." Wes objected. "I checked him over, no bones sticking through skin." He hadn't missed the fact that Jason had not once, attempted to move Clay. "You didn't try and take his clothes of either." He muttered under his breath.

But oh, not only did Jason have eyes in the back of his head, he also had bionic ears. He slapped Wes upside an ear in silent admonishment.

Trent gritted his teeth. That is what constituted injury on Echo? Really? _REALLY?_

"When did the nosebleed start?" Trent asked when he could speak calmly. "Cerb, I love you, but back off."

Cerberus sent the medic a look only a dog could pull off, moved to sit by Clay's feet where he bared his teeth with a low growl.

"I say, isn't that your dog? He is, right? He's growling at you. He shouldn't do that. That's not good training…" Wes went quiet. "Nosebleed? What nosebleed? He didn't have a nosebleed. The blood and uh, gore isn't his. I asked."

"You said he took a hit to the head," Jason reminded him. "With a possible head injury, you believed him?"

"How'd you know that?" Wes asked. "I didn't…..wait…..that phone number on his tag calls you?" He exclaimed incredulously. "No way! I mean, it was encrypted. Right?"

"He's a Tier One sniper on the Navy's top assault team." Jason replied, like it explained everything.

It didn't.

"Well, yeah, but….."

"I know _what_ isn't his." Trent bit out. "Jay, gonna need your help here."

Trent knew? Baffled, Wes demanded. "How?"

Jason dumped the whole bottle of peroxide over the gunshot wound. Wes hissed, flinched but Jason wasn't wasting time.

Oh no, he didn't pat the wound dry or apply any antiseptic ointment, just tore a packet open with his teeth, slapped the dressing he removed from it on Wes's arm and wrapped an ace bandage around it, tied it off. Didn't care it was lop-sided, too loose and not covering half the dressing.

"Stay still." Jason warned, moved over to help Trent. "Bullet's still in his arm."

"Hold his head." Trent told Jason with a nod of acknowledgement, reached for a backpack, pulled it close. "Gonna roll him over." Wasn't much more they could do for Wes, wasn't going to dig a bullet out down here in the dirt and dust. It was clean and treated to stave off infection, it was the best they could do in their situation. "Keep his head off the floor."

Jason nodded, sat on his knees, ass on his heels, held Clay's head firmly between his hands as Trent carefully pushed Clay off his shoulder and onto his back.

"Pinch his nose." Trent ordered once Clay's head rested on Jason's thighs. "Wes, you want something for the pain, blue duffel, there's Demerol." He handed Jason some gauze, a wet rag. "Should slow up."

"Ice pack?" Jason questioned. Trent shrugged. "Can't hurt, right? He's not gonna sit up."

"Might make his head hurt worse." Trent paused, pulled an instant cold back, squeezed until it was activated. "Feel any lumps? Bumps?"

"Nothing." Jason worked to stop the nosebleed. "Least we know he pukes blood, where it's from."

"How could you tell he had a nosebleed, you hadn't seen his face?" Wes stared as Jason juggled Clay's head so it nestled deeper between his knees so he could hold it still with his thighs. Jason pinched his nose closed with one hand, balanced the ice pack across Clay's eyes with the other, held the wet rag over his lip and against his nostrils and somehow still managed to send his fingers probing through Clay's matted hair. "You're, uh, pretty good at this." He added in awe.

What, did the Master Chief possess three hands? Four? Christ, was there anything the man couldn't do?

He was surprised someone of Jason's rank and training would be so hands on. Hell, he was still stunned Jason had even come down into the space they were trapped in with Trent. Everyone in any branch of the military, especially special forces, knew of Jason Hayes and his 'tactical' mind.

"Injuries don't know rank." Trent said tersely, large pair of scissors in his hand. "Jason ain't better than Brock or Sonny."

The medic just-oh-so-casually referred to his team leader by first name? Wow. He should be addressed as Chief Hayes.

Trent wasted no time feeling for broken bones, injuries, asking questions, or trying to rouse Clay, began to cut off his clothes. Clay started to stir when he felt the bite of air on bare skin. He didn't think much about his clothes coming off but Trent didn't care. Wes winced a time or two on Clay's behalf….yeah, Trent was no gentler with Clay then he had been with Wes.

"Yeah well kid, you don't have to like it." Jason muttered, holding Clay still so Trent didn't poke him with the scissors. "But your clothes are coming off."

Flashlight between his teeth, within seconds – mere seconds – Trent had cut through Clay's t-shirt, tossed it aside, cut his jeans from ankle to crotch, one leg at a time, left him in his boxer briefs, boots and socks.

"He said his head hurt." Wes began when Trent leaned over Clay, flashed a light into his eyes. He had to force the kids eye open, ignored his groan – scream – of protest. "Light bothers him."

"Heard you the first time." Trent muttered, wished Wes would shut up as Jason shushed Clay. A lame attempt to soothe him.

Yak, yak, yak. Good God. Not Bravo. His team knew to stay silent and let him work.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Dunno yet."

"Is it bad?"

"Working on it."

"Is he okay?'

"I'll let you know."

"He's hot." Wes commented.

"Yup."

"Fever, you think?"

"Uh-huh."

"Not responsive." Wes pointed out the obvious.

"Nope."

Trent continued his examine.

"His nose wasn't bleeding before." Wes commented. "Why'd that happen? Do you know?"

"They call me medic, not doctor."

"Wes." Jason hissed. Trent would only tolerate Wes's babbling so long, then the young SEAL would find a hand around his throat and his head bouncing off a wall.

"He didn't hit it. What would cause it to bleed like that?"

"Shut up." Jason snapped.

"Not normal is it?"

Trent paused, sent Jason a look.

Right. Jason reached out, punched Wes on the knee hard enough the younger man gasped and flinched. "Shut the fuck up." He ordered. "Even the dog knows when to be quiet."

When Trent wanted to know what happened, he'd ask. Until then, Wes needed to remain quiet.

"Bleeding letting up any?" Trent asked. It'd been close to twenty-four hours since Wes and Clay had gone missing. More than enough time for Clay to show bruising, and boy, was he ever. "Heart rates good. Breathing isn't, but neither are these conditions."

"Not much." Even though Trent had already taken Clay's pulse and confirmed it good, Jason couldn't help but lay two fingers against Clay's carotid artery, feel it and count for himself. "Maybe a bit."

"Give him oxygen then." Wes said. "You have it, don't you? Help him breathe."

"With his nose bleeding?" Trent glared.

"Oh." Wes didn't completely understand, but okay, sure. "Say, can you tell if he's bleeding from his brain or something?" He asked. "Is the nosebleed a sign? It is, isn't it?"

Trent ignored him, palpated and kneaded Clay's belly, both sides, pressed along his ribs, up to his chest - no signs of internal bleeding in the abdomen. The bruising on his shoulders and hips were areas he would have landed on when he fell, not the result of internal bleeding.

"You remember him hitting his head?" Trent asked Jason. "Complaining of headaches?"

"No."

Trent turned to Wes. "When did he first complain his head hurt?"

"He didn't. I mean…..Seth asked if he were okay, said we'd head back soon, but Clay didn't say his head hurt or anything."

Trent met Jason's gaze, held it, sighed. "I meant after the building collapsed."

"Oh." Wes was silent. "Um, I woke up, he was still out, but he'd been awake before me at some point, because my arm was bandaged. He was confused, said we fell twice, but there was only one floor below us, so maybe he hit it then?"

"He wasn't confused. You're in a cellar." Trent corrected. "Why it took us so long to find you. Wasn't a cellar on the maps we were given."

"Luckily Trent here, is fluent in Clay slur." Jason cracked a grin.

"Oh." He was silent again, not sure what that meant. "When we fell the first time, he said he bandaged my arm. After he woke up after the second fall, he didn't like the light from his flashlight in his face." He thought back. "I asked if he had a concussion. He just said his head hurt, kept asking me to turn off the light, but it wasn't on."

"He was seeing burst of lights?" Trent guessed.

"He didn't say, I didn't ask." Wes confessed. "He, uh, got worse, more or less, I dunno, passed out. Sorry, I don't know what time or anything….his watch is busted and I don't have one." And he hadn't thought to look at the time on the phone before it died.

"Any nausea?"

"No."

"Seizure?"

"What? NO!" Wes huffed indignantly. "Don't you think that would have been the first thing I told you, you came down here?!"

"Confusion?"

"Well, I thought so. Said we fell twice and you would come get us, but….." Wes shrugged. "Here you are and you agree we fell twice, so no."

"Has he had anything to drink since you've been trapped here?"

"Uh, no."

"Vodka?"

"He didn't like it."

"Could he swallow?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so."

"Was he groggy? Did he sleep? Could you wake him up?"

"Uh, yeah, he slept but I could wake him up. He didn't want to though."

"Did he respond to you?"

"Ummmm, not really."

"Did you try and make him?"

"Why would I?"

"Any idea when the nose bleed started?"

"Um…I fell asleep after the phone call. He was okay then."

"Did you fire the gun?"

"No." Wes looked confused. "It's what woke me up. I don't know why he did."

"He heard us." Trent said. "He ever ignores us, I'll help Sonny knock him into the next week."

"You think the sound of the shot triggered it?"Jason asked Trent.

"Could have done it," Trent shrugged.

"Yeah but…..I mean…..oh." Wes fell silent.

"TBI?" Jason questioned quietly, knew it was what Trent was angling to decide. "Or a bleed?"

"Possible." Trent hesitated. "Dunno."

A thud, a thump, a shouted HEAVE TO from above and Trent and Jason draped over Clay to protect him from dirt and dust and pebble-sized chunks of concrete that rained down on them when the ceiling and walls buckled and crumbled.

Now, where Wes was from 'heave to' was a sailing term about sail boats. However, it apparently meant something completely different to Bravo because they both protected Clay and they both shot out a hand to knock Wes into a corner.

Hell, did they have their own language?

"TRENT?" Jason sat up as the shaking ceased and they were left with yet another cloud of dust and smoke that quickly dissipated.

"ALL GOOD!" Trent shouted back. He pushed off Clay, relieved to find the shake, rattle and rumble hadn't disturbed the kid at all. Relief turned to dismay…..he really wished Clay would start to show signs of coming around. He didn't want to consider a head injury, his gut led him a different direction….but….

"Wes? You okay?" Jason asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good." He swallowed hard, a bit rattled. "What was that? What are they doing?"

"Getting us out." Jason answered. "Hey, it's my guys up there. They're not gonna let anything happen to us."

Wes was sure he was more upset that Jason _wasn't _upset then he was with their rescuers nearly burying them alive.

Jason's walkie-talkie squawked, Ray reported in: Eric was in the middle of an epic meltdown. Ray expected him to throw a stroke any second now. Rescuers had moved in with machinery without prior warning or Eric's approval, collapsed the wall. The way Jason and Trent had been able to enter was no longer a viable option out. Eric had shut down any further help from well-doers who had no idea what they there doing. Chris had absconded with the bulldozer. The others would dig them out. Sit tight.

"Don't like it." Trent muttered. "Where the hell do you take a stolen bulldozer? Hell, you can run faster than those things move."

Jason grinned at mental image in his head. "That man can drive anything anywhere. We get outta here, we're gonna have to get the hell outta dodge."

"Davis better have that plane idling." Trent agreed, dusting Clay off. "Hey kid."

Wes opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it. Closed it. Cleared this throat.

They – the unit leader and the unit medic, who had just discussed a bleeding brain injury – were fine being buried with no immediate way to leave? What the fuck was that shit?

Oh, and hey, Bravo team? Planes don't idle.

Because this was Clay and Trent knew better than to dismiss or ignore any part of him, he felt from the kid's pelvis to his knee on his right leg; removed his boot and sock, continued to his toes; repeated the process with his left leg.

"Little shit wears tube socks." Trent lifted Clay's left leg, set his foot on his knee. "Only dude I know wears socks up to his fucking knees."

"That a bandage?" Jason let out a low whistle. "You know about that?"

"No." Trent growled.

That one word spoken in that tone caused Jason to frown, glare at Clay.

"And he taped it." Trent muttered through clenched teeth. "I'm gonna kill him Jay." He pulled another backpack close, dug through a flap, came out with a small pair of scissors. "He hid this from me? From Doc? He's not supposed to do that? Thought you got through to him."

"So'd I." Jason admitted, watched Trent carefully cut through the tape, pull the bandage off, remove the gauze padding. "What?" He asked, seeing the look on his medics face turn from annoyance to alarm.

Wes moved so he could see - the stunned look on Trent's face had him curious – but he was beaten by a dog.

Cerberus wedged his head between Jason and Trent's shoulders. "Woof."

"Do something with that dog." Trent seethed.

"This how he acts when it's Clay, imagine if it were Brock." Jason snapped his fingers, pointed. Cerberus shook his head. "Off!" Jason commanded. Cerberus curled his lip, bared his teeth, but moved. "Good boy."

"Turn on a light." Trent ordered. "Jesus Clay, you sure do try me, don't you?"

"What is it?" Jason asked.

Wes assumed Trent meant a flashlight, was about to say two were already on when the entire space they'd occupied since they'd fallen lit up like the Griswold house.

It was so bright so suddenly that it hurt Wes's eyes, made his head swim. He closed his eyes, covered his face with his arm, spun to face the wall.

Where had the light come from, how had Jason reached it and turned it on while still crouched on his knees with Clay's head in his lap?

Clay's response was instant and didn't surprise anyone but Wes. He jerked with a cry, flailing. Jason's hand was dislodged and the ice pack fell to the floor as Clay sought to bury his face between Jason's knees. Blood gushed over Jason's hand and he didn't try to pinch Clay's nose again in favor of keeping his head still.

"Trent?" Jason said sharply, struggling to hold Clay still. "Easy kid. I've got you." He thought to grab Clay's hands, wasn't prepared for the kid to fight him, engaged in a slap-fest. "Turn the light out!" He ordered Wes.

"Leave it on!" Trent ordered Wes.

"Out!"

"On!"

"TRENT!"

"JACE!"

That did it.

Wes looked back and forth from one to the other like he was watching a tennis match. He thought for sure Trent would buckle under to authority, to rank, but to his surprise, Jason was the one who capitulated.

Wes was firmly on Jason's side. Why put Clay through this kind of pain when it wasn't necessary?

"Clay, listen to me." Trent gripped the kid's jaw, squeezed. Blood traveled from Clay's lip, to his chin, over Trent's hand. "You have two choices and fighting me isn't one of them." He said sternly. "Okay? You either shut up, lie still and tolerate the light or you let me put this mask over your eyes. It will block all light. Jason's right here, bawl in his lap, you wanna."

Wait, what?

Clay went still with a whimper, knees raised, hands clutching Jason. One held his shirt, the other a sleeve. He didn't let go and Jason didn't attempt to tug free.

"Turn….it…..off." Clay whispered, tongue thick and white, licking dry lips. "Please?"

"No." Trent said firmly. "I can't."

"He's dehydrated." Jason wasn't surprised.

"You thought he wouldn't be?" Trent said dryly.

"Can I give him water?"

"You can try."

Wes handed Jason a bottle of water who used his teeth to pull up the tab, thinking: Why were they arguing over a light? Why weren't they more worried about a possible, life-threatening head injury? Why weren't they worried about being trapped for who knew how much longer?

"Put the mask on." Jason said when Clay refused to turn his face from Jason's lap and accept the water. "Clay? Just a blindfold that will block the light, okay? Don't panic."

Wes sure as hell would panic. Denied his strongest sense? Oh hell yeah, he'd have a fit.

"Want me to do it?" Wes offered. Both Jason and Trent had their hands full and he sat there doing nothing.

"I got it." Trent said. "He doesn't trust you."

How Clay would know who was putting the mask over his eyes was beyond Wes, but then again, what with this team wasn't?

Clay reluctantly submitted to the mask being put over his eyes, the elastic band pulled over his head and behind his ears, when his attempts to avoid it went ignored. Soon as Trent sat back, Clay visibly relaxed, went limp.

Wow. That right there was some deep trust in your teammate.

Of course, the condition Clay was in, Wes didn't know what he expected him to do, but…..yeah.

"Try packing his nose?" Jason asked, shoved a dry, clean rag against Clay's nose, gave him a minute, then tried again to get Clay to drink. This time, Clay licked his lips, turned his head and let Jason squeeze water into his mouth.

Trent shook his head. "Bleeding lets up, use a caustic stick."

Now it was Jason who shook his head. "Yeah, no." He gave Clay more water, waited while Trent watched the kid swallow. When Trent nodded, satisfied that Clay was swallowing okay, Jason gave him another drink.

"I've got another problem Jason. You know how to use…"

"Yeah, I've never done it and as long as you're here, I'm not going to."

Trent rolled his eyes, cursed, called his boss names.

"Wet, insert, twist." Trent snapped. "Not that hard."

"Not doing it." Jason stated flatly. "Don't wanna hurt him."

More name calling.

Wes kinda understood Trent. Jason didn't want to cause Clay pain, but it was okay he made his medic do it? Not fair.

"Clean his leg." Trent ordered. "Wes, take Jason's place, hold his head. He's not going to like this and Benzocaine isn't going to help."

Do what? Jason lifted Clay's head from his lap, got up, held Clay's head until Wes assumed the position then let Wes hold Clay's head steady on his knees.

Clay didn't like the change.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Boo-hoo." Trent pinched and wiped Clay's nose. Pinched and wiped. Pinched harder, made Clay whine, move restlessly. "Stay still."

But blind and in pain, Clay didn't know Wes, the lap felt different, the touch wasn't familiar, he didn't want to be where he was, began to squirm.

Jason held his ankles, tried to look at his leg to see what had Trent in a hissy fit. Failed.  
Wes held the ice pack over Clay's cheeks, tried to hold his head steady. Failed.  
Trent pinched and wiped.  
Both Jason and Trent talked softly, murmured bullshit so Clay could hear their voices.

Finally the bleeding slowed to a trickle and Trent opened yet another zipper on another flap and withdrew a tube, reached for the open bottle of water.

"Is that going to hurt?" Wes asked as Trent removed a stick from the tube. Seriously, how the hell did the medic know where everything was? There were like, five freaking bags!

"Not gonna feel good." Trent admitted. "Don't let him jerk his head."

Wes caught Jason's eye. The boss's look promised retribution if he didn't obey Trent's command but when he spoke, it wasn't a threat.

"He's okay." Jason said.

Wes didn't know who Jason was talking to or who he was talking about, but Clay wasn't okay and Wes didn't know how to handle him or hold him still. An impatient hand-wave from Trent accompanied by a suffering sigh and Jason reclaimed his spot from Wes without ever seeing what had made Trent demand the light, turned and kept on.

Once again in Jason's lap, Clay was somewhat calmer, but not much. The difference was Jason had experience in man-handling Clay and gaining his cooperation. He know how far to push, how hard to hold, where to hold, the right words to say, had the known voice to say it.

"Hold this." Trent handed Wes a wad of gauze. "Stop any bleeding, wipe anything that drips."

Not sure where the ruptured vessel or torn membrane was, Trent activated one stick, inserted it into Clay's left nostril slowly rotated it, touched every spot inside his nose he could reach. He then activated a second stick, did the same with the right nostril.

Clay bore it much better than Wes expected. He trembled, moved his feet restlessly, repeatedly raised his knees, let his legs splay, stretched back out but otherwise remained still.

Done, Trent held Clay's chin for a moment, caressed his cheek with the pad of his thumb, let him go.

It was a sneaky move, but Jason caught it, smirked, said nothing.

"Seems to've worked." Jason took the gauze from Wes, held it to Clay's nose, positioned the ice pack across Clay's cheeks. "What's with his leg?"

"Sure as hell ain't from tonight."

* * *

Well, I lied.

I was going to finish it this chapter, but I have a sneaking suspicion if I did, you'd all want what happened when they got out of the cellar...so one more chapter...never fear, it's done. Just checking grammar and boo-boos, which I won't all catch anyway!


	7. Chapter 7

Love Swanny! So relieved Clay will return to the team…..course, like my husband duh-duh'd me….how could he not when they continue the series?!

* * *

Jason blinked. Thought about it. Remained blank.

"Say what?" He said finally, stupidly, but he was at a loss. "What does that mean? I mean, I know what it means, but what does it mean, _now_?"

He juggled Clay off his lap, waved Wes off, hauled him mostly upright, felt Clay relax against him, held him when he slumped, going completely limp, head lolling on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth radiating from the younger Seal, recalled Trent agreeing Clay was feverish. Couldn't be good.

He touched a hand to Clay's forehead. Dry, not clammy but warm. Huh. Odd.

"Take a look." Trent heaved a tired sigh, sat for a moment, drank some water. "I'm gonna kill him."

Oh Jason gave a look all right, but it was directed at his medic, not his sniper's leg. He had a lapful of unconscious, clingy Clay and Trent wanted him to see the kid's calf?

"Wait! Just wait." Wes stood, hands on hips. He must have been too close to someone because suddenly, the dog was between him and the three men on the floor. He wisely took a step back, then another before Cerberus was satisfied. "You just discussed the possibility of him having a brain injury and now, you see a bandage on his leg and suddenly, his head is fine?"

"He can swallow, no nausea, no vomiting, no seizure, no confusion." Trent said simply, blew Wes off.

So simply, it riled Wes to reaction.

"Don't blow me off!" The newbie danced a jiggle, flung his arms wide. "What the **_HELL _**is wrong with you?" He howled. "He could be BLEEDING from his BRAIN or into his BRAIN or around his BRAIN AND YOU'RE WORRIED ABOUT A FUCKING BAND-AID ON HIS **_LEG_**?!"

"Yeah, he could be." Jason agreed. "Now calm down, sit down, shut up and let it go or I'll let Cerberus put you down." He again shushed Clay who stirred in response to the raised, angry voice that was unfamiliar to him.

Cerb growled, hackle's up. The way the dog eyed him, Wes wasn't so sure Jason was issuing an idle threat. He didn't sit down, but he backed up and fell silent.

By contorting himself sideways, spreading his legs so Clay's weight hit the floor between them and holding the kid with one arm to keep the rag and the ice pack against his nose AND keep his head as still as possible, Jason was able to double over, crane his neck until his ear touched his elbow and see what had his normally sane, stoic medic clenching his fists and threatening to kill the kid this time.

"The hell?" Jason freed a hand to slap Clay on his forearm. He didn't feel it, but it made Jason feel better.

"Over a week old." Trent said waving hand over the infected – and in his opinion – untreated wound on Clay's left calf. "He never said a word."

"Maybe Doc?" Jason said doubtfully. "Jesus Trent, what is that?"

But Trent was shaking his head, Doc would have said something. Maybe not how or when Clay got the injury, but he would have told Trent about it. "Deep enough it should have been stitched. Neosporin and tape, dumb ass."

"Explains the soccer sock." Jason pointed out. The sock was high and tight enough to help keep the bandage and tape secure. "Wouldn't that hurt though? Looks like it would hurt."

"We all get cuts and scrapes." Wes regrouped. "Tape it up and forget about it. Not a big deal."

"It's not a cut." Trent snapped. "It's a fucking stab wound."

Wes carefully moved around the dog to get a look for himself. Cerberus watched him, gaze steady, licked his chops but didn't growl.

"Infected." Jason guessed. Trent nodded. "Serious?"

"The headache? The sensitivity to light? The nosebleed? The fever? The dehydration?" Trent ticked each symptom off one finger at a time. "He's your kid, do the math Jason."

"Aah, if I recall, he's Ray's." Jason countered back. "You all badgered me 'til I gave in."

Trent grinned, inclined his head in agreement. "True." They'd all rode Jason hard over selecting Clay to join their team.

"He's dehydrated because we've been stuck in here and he wouldn't drink the vodka." Wes said impatiently. Joking around? Really? Now was so not the time!

"Doesn't make sense though," Jason objected, rubbed dust from his hair, reached for a bottle of water. "Never noticed one symptom. Nothing Trent."

"Didn't mean he didn't have them, didn't tell us. He was stabbed Jay, and it ain't new." Trent poured liquid – not water – from a bottle, washed his hands, poked the ugly, red, swollen gash on the side of Clay's calf with a scalpel until Clay pulled his leg away in protest – it didn't take long, two jabs - reached for latex gloves. "Yeah, it's been cleaned and he kept it wrapped and treated with…" He made a face. "Some over-the-counter shit. Ignored it."

"… did…not…'norit….ate…..nurse….." Clay murmured.

"Any idea what he's saying?" Jason asked Trent who shrugged, drank water. "He coming around?"

"Maybe."

Maybe, what? Wes wondered. Did maybe mean Trent knew what the hell Clay was babbling about? Or did maybe mean he thought Clay was coming around?

"He didn't ignore it, saw a nurse." Trent translated. "Did he date one?"

Jason shrugged. "Cudda, there's been a few."

Trent stopped Clay from pawing at the mask that covered his eyes, held his hands and squeezed his fingers, held tight longer than necessary.

"Leave it alone kid." Trent said softly. "I take it off and you cry over the light, I'm calling you a girl."

"That….that's offensive to women." Wes objected with a frown.

"Sissy then." Trent rolled his eyes. "Damn sensitivity training." He didn't wait for a response. "Clay? You with me? Hey." Trent held his chin, gave his head a gentle shake, made the kid yelp. "Okay, okay, my bad." He let go when Clay groaned, turning grey in the odd lighting, didn't want to be the reason the kid puked.

"Head…..hurts…." Clay winced, lip curling. "Make….it….stop…" He licked his lips, swallowed. "Ple…ease?"

Trent hesitated, not sure what was causing the headache, he was reluctant to administer any pain meds just yet. "Sure, gimme a minute." He lied easily, hoping Clay would forget he asked.

"Sneth?" Followed by, "M…mm..att?"

"They're good, Seth's a bit banged up, Matt's bruised. Both are on base with Doc." Jason assured him.

Clay frowned. They were good? He'd asked _where_ they were, not _how_ they….wait….who was talking? Sounded like Jason….but….his frowned deepened when he heard someone ask….

"Stitches weren't needed?" Wes asked.

Who the hell was that? He fidgeted, was calmed by Jason.

"They likely were." Trent sighed. "I'll stitch him up where if it were Sonny or Brock, I'd use glue or adhesives. Kid bleeds easily."

"What would cause an infection like that?" Jason asked. "With those symptoms?"

"Other than he's Clay and he doesn't respond or react the way a normal person does with the same injury?" Trent threw his hands up, pulled the gloves on. "Guess he could keep it under control." He decided. "Until they got trapped here, no access to water, no ibuprofen…" He paused. "You know how Blackburn feels about hydration."

"He ain't wrong." Jason grinned. "Not with this one."

"He had some with him." Wes corrected. "Gave it to me though."

"Advil liquid gel-caps?" Trent guessed irritably. Wes nodded. "I swear Jay, that shit is a fucking wonder drug for him." The medic fumed. "He'd rather take that than morphine." He shook his head in disbelief. "Musta been enough to keep the infection in check, his fever down."

"As often as he's hurt, he's afraid of addiction." Jason said in Clay's defense. "Valid fear, don't you think?"

"Yet he goes and does shit like this." Trent scowled. "We left home, flew here, crashed, got up, did the job, he de-briefed, went out ….he hasn't cleaned it, in what, two? Three? Days?"

"He showered before we went out." Wes corrected.

"That tape is days old." Trent argued crossly. "He left it on while he showered." He picked up the walkie-talkie, easily raised Blackburn. Asked how long until they were able to get out. Cursed when he was told; two to three hours yet Four tops. Maybe. "If he'd kept it clean and medicated, taken the Advil….."

"Did….too…." Clay muttered. "…..not….that….bad." He shifted his weight uneasily. "….had…..it….looked….at."

"I'm gonna take that….Demerol." Wes said. "Which bag…?" A bottle flew at him. "Oh. Thanks." He caught a second bottle. "What's this?"

"Start you both on antibiotics." Trent sighed, rolled his eyes, reached for yet another bag. "Yellow bag, get yourself a blanket, toss one to Jason." He cracked his neck, stretched his back, motioned. "Roll him."

"Wait, why?" Wes demanded nervously. Trent held up a syringe, waggled it with silent sarcasm. "I get pills, he gets a shot?" He shook out the blankets, amazed with everything Bravo had brought with them. The warmth was meager, yet welcoming and he gratefully wrapped it around his shoulders. He spread the second one over Clay at Jason's direction.

"I'm not mad at you." Trent replied. Focused on pulling items from the bag, he missed the look Wes gave him.

Jason chuckled, actually laughed at the blank look on Wes's face that turned from confusion to horror.

"Yeah, but….." Wes trailed off. But what? Hell, he didn't know. What was Trent capable of doing when he was mad? "You're…not gonna hurt him, are you?"

"Oh yeah." Trend still wasn't clued in to the fact that Wes was taking him seriously and getting upset.

"Yeah, but…I don't think so." Wes stepped closer. He was unsure about going against Jason, but Trent was a mere medic and Wes wasn't going to simply stand by and…..damn that fucking dog!

"Stand down." Jason ordered.

Wes wavered…..who? Him or the dog?

Trent finally paused, looked up, raised an eyebrow. "I'm giving him a shot." He explained as if Wes were five. "With a needle. Relax."

"Why not his arm?"

"Bicillin and Rocephin are intramuscular injections." Jason explained. "He wouldn't lift his arm for a week. Deltoid can't take the quantity Trent's gonna give him. Ass is a bigger muscle."

Trent snorted, cap between his teeth from the pre-filled vial. "More like two with this one."

Wes paled, his eyes widened. He remembered that damn Bicillin vaccination. OW! And how did Jason know what Trent was going to give Clay? Wes saw the size needle in Trent's hand, winced. To him, in this light, it was the size of a McDonald's straw.

"Yeah, but Bicillin in a vaccination for, um, STD's…for uh, you know….when we….when new recruits go overseas and seek….um…companionship…I mean," Wes swallowed. "And isn't it expensive? Like a $1000.00 a shot or something." And Trent just happened to have it in his med kit? "And needs to be refrigerated and…..you don't just give someone….that."

Cerberus blew his breath out, shook his head, shook his fur into place. Good Grief, did Echo's whatever, ever shut up?

"It's a form of a penicillin antibiotic used to prevent and treat bacterial infections." Trent corrected. Least, the newbie remembered his text-book training from first-aid.

"Yeah. But. It. Hurts!" Bacterial infection? What the hell?

"Sure does." Trent chirped gleefully. "Next time, the little prick will tell me somebody stabbed him in the leg." Having dug through his backpack, he pulled on clean gloves. Clay flinched at the rubber snap.

Jason opened a swab stick of Povidone, held it out for Trent to take from the sterile package. Jason didn't blame the kid, he didn't like the sound either. Didn't know anyone who did.

"Chief Hayes?" Wes turned to Jason. "Are you going to let him do that to him?"

Jason shrugged with a WTF smirk. "Do what?"

Trent finally paused. He could be annoyed, he could be pissed-off, he could be irritated, but he couldn't be mad at Wes for truly being concerned about Clay and what Trent might do to him. And because Trent was actually worried about Clay's condition, his reaction to light, his lack of consistent responsiveness, the nosebleed, the infected leg wound, a possible brain bleed, he took a rare moment to explain himself.

"I'm not doing anything to him that won't help him." Trent told Wes. "He throws reactions or suffers side effects not common with the medication given to him. I wouldn't give him this just to hurt him. Why do you think we travel with our own Doc?"

"Cause, uh, Bravo and…well….'cause you're Bravo." Wes finished lamely. He didn't think either man staring at him would take it well it he labelled them snobs. Or cry-babies.

"That wound is infected. I don't know for how long or how deep or how bad, but it's spread. You gotta trust I would never do anything to hurt him." Trent paused, grinned to ease the tension. "I ever tried, Jason would knock me into the wall."

"If Sonny got to you first," Jason teased, "He'd put you _through_ the wall."

"He'd try." Trent agreed.

Swab stick in hand, Trent motioned for Jason to turn Clay onto his right hip. Jason set aside the ice pack to hold Clay's head still against his shoulder with one hand, push his shoulder with the other and guide the kids hips with his knee until Trent reached out to thumb the waistband of the boxer briefs out of his way.

Yeah, Clay didn't like that.

"Easy." Trent murmured. "Just me Clay, easy. Got him?"

Jason trapped Clay's legs between his own. Injecting Bicillin was neither quick nor painless and in Clay's current state, he resisted rather than submitted.

"Stay still." Jason rested his chin atop Clay's head. "Just Trent. You can trust him. Okay?"

Wes noted Jason didn't say: he's not going to hurt you.

Trent generously cleaned Clay's skin with alcohol wipes, then the swabs, sprayed Ethylchloride, gave it a minute to dry, injected the needle.

Clay didn't react until Trent depressed the plunger. The puncture of the needle didn't even make him twitch but as seconds ticked by, he became a quivering mess in his boss's arms, panting against his shoulder. He tried to flinch away a time or two, reached with his hand to stop Trent but a jiggle and a word or two from Jason and Clay would still for a few seconds before trying another move. He didn't once lay still during the entire time it Trent took to inject the medicine.

Trent finally patted Clay's shoulder, tossed the empty syringe, saw Jason's tight wince. "Jay? You good?"

"Mmmmm. Can you, uh, detach him? He has skin." Bravo's team leader wasn't willing to upset their youngest member by forcefully breaking the hold he had on his arm.

"Yeah, got him." Trent applied pressure against Clay's wrist with his thumb until his clenched fist on Jason's sleeve went lax. "Good?" He adjusted the blanket.

"Yeah. IV?" Jason questioned, watching Trent. He relaxed his hold on Clay, let him sprawl onto his back, between Jason's legs, head on his thigh. He reapplied the ice pack. "Down here?"

"Headache's from dehydration."

Clay stirred, squirming. "It…..'s…killin' me." His hand moved, found fabric again, twisted it in his fist, held tight.

"You can't know that," protested Wes.

Both Trent and Jason ignored him. "Yeah buddy, working on that." Trent patted his knee. "Gimme your hand."

"Wait, you put the IV in the back of his hand?" Wes was beginning to feel weak, sluggish. He'd been taught to start an IV in the proximal vein, not the hand. "Why?"

"Sit down." Trent said without even looking at him. "Before you fall down."

Wes sat.

Trent tugged, Clay resisted, so he tugged harder, made the kid whimper. He was reluctant to force Clay to release Jason's sleeve and his other hand was somehow missing beneath Jason's thigh but the kid had to free one hand or the other.

Or not.

Wes watched Trent double up at an awkward angle to gain access to Clay's hand without making the kid move or let go of Jason. He'd thought Echo's medic was good but not so much now. He bet Terry didn't know half the shit Trent did. Bet he wouldn't stand on his head in a cave-in with inadequate light to insert an IV in the back of a hand! Bet he couldn't crouch over two bodies and work from his elbows to gain access so he could insert the needle the way he needed to.

Bet their team leader wouldn't cajole and coax any of his men into straightening out their wrist to allow their medic access to their hand without otherwise making him move.

Oh yeah, Wes was impressed. Clay didn't twitch when the needle poked his skin this time either. Was Trent that good? If he was, what did that say about Bravo? Did they require his services, uh, that much?

The IV started, the bag somehow hung, the port securely taped to skin, Clay quiet but panting, Trent set to work on his leg.

"What cha' doing?" Wes asked. "What are those? Are those scissors? Small, don't you think? WOW! Look at that! Do you see that? What caused that?"

Exasperated, Trent said to Jason. "I speak English, don't I? What doesn't he get?"

That, was the wound on Clay's leg. It wasn't as large as Wes expected, but it was ugly and swollen and red and the skin was peeling and puckered and bubbled. The edges of the wound split into layers and were off-colored. Not red, not grey, not black, not white….just off-colored. Maybe it was the light, the weird shadows that were cast.

"Infection, I heard you." Now Wes knew why Trent had gone heavy with the antibiotics, just not the ones he'd chosen. "Just, never seen anything like that before."

Yeah, well, me neither, Trent thought. Didn't dare say it though. Couldn't - wouldn't - freak Jason out. He warred with the decision to snip and clip the torn, layered, turning black, loose flaps of skin around the wound, where they were or treat it best he could and wait until they got out.

He had a decision to make…..which way he chose would depend on how soon they were getting out of….

The walkie-talkie squawked. Chris was back with the bulldozer, had figured out how to properly operate it. Should have them free in another two to three hours.

"Nose is bleeding."

Trent wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Shit. Well, that answered that. .

"You got him?" Trent asked Jason quietly, laid out rolls of gauze, wads of gauze, pads of gauze. His boss nodded, but Trent didn't look convinced. "Can you hold him still?"

"Do I need to?"

"Gonna hurt." He laid out bottles of saline, water, peroxide, alcohol.

"I can't hold his legs."

"Only have to keep one still, I'll kneel on it."

"Wait, what are you doing to do?" Wes asked. "What's all that for?"

Trent paused, gave Wes his full attention. "He's dehydrated, he's running a fever, he may have a head injury." He refused to say brain injury because he truly didn't believe Clay had one, but still, he couldn't rule it out. "That infection is feeding the fever, the wound is red and swollen and warm. I don't need him going septic. There's no pus or cloudy seepage, his blood pressure is good and I intend to keep it that way."

"Wait, you're gonna leave a bullet in my arm until we get out of here, but you're gonna go ahead and cut his skin off with sewing scissors?" Wes gasped, appalled. "Two hours will make that big a difference?"

Trent quirked an eyebrow. Sewing scissors? He reached for another backpack, pulled it close.

"You're vitals are fine." Trent sighed. "You haven't had an infection for over a week from a wound not treated properly. It's gonna be hours until they get us out of here and we're back on base where Doc can get at him. Yeah, I'm gonna cut that black, dead skin off with these _surgica_l scissors." He waved his hand. "Forceps and scalpel if needed."

"Is that gangrene?!"

"Doesn't your arm hurt?" Trent snapped. "Your arm should hurt." He held a vial, filled a syringe, ruthlessly separated Clay's hand from Jason's sleeve, injected the needle into the second port in the back of Clay's hand. "It's not fucking gangrene."

"What was that?"

Jason held another cloth against Clay's nose, offered him water and while he was distracted licking the tab, Jason shifted him into his arms, slid an arm around his chest, pulled him close, trapped his hips between his thighs.

"Mild pain med." Trent injected a different needle into another bottle. "This might make you drowsy." He told Wes. "Just gonna ease the pain a bit, okay? You're pale, bit shaky."

Wes shrugged. Bit of relief would feel great. His whole arm ached and his head throbbed, but at least he wasn't bleeding through the bandage Trent had put on. Truth was, he did feel shaky and weak.

A few minutes after Trent administered the sedative in his arm, Wes went slack against the wall. Cerberus laid down next to him, rested his head on Wes's leg but kept his eyes on Clay.

"Good boy." Trent poured water into a bowl, set it near Cerberus in case he wanted a drink. "Don't worry fella," He patted the silky head. "We're not going to let anything happen to him."

***000***

Doc braced himself, one arm on the dashboard, one hand clinging to the handle in the ceiling, feet against where a glove box would in a normal car. Had Chris been driving, he'd have something to say about arms and feet not being where they should be, but he wasn't and Sonny didn't care.

Sonny drove as fast as he dared, which was nowhere near the speed Chris would have been traveling. He was not used to such a large, clumsy vehicle or accustomed to how it handled. He wondered how many hours Chris spent practicing driving. He had to practice. There was no other way he could be such a good driver if he didn't. Hell, he probably logged more hours driving every car, jeep, truck, Humvee, dump truck, big rig and every other vehicle ever known to man than Chuck and Greg did flying.

It made Sonny feel better to think about Chris and his driving abilities than wonder what he would find when he arrived and Clay was brought out and loaded onto the truck. He knew once he reached town, he'd be left sitting with Doc in the truck waiting, but it would be waiting closer to this team then twiddling his thumbs on base.

The side mirrors were crap, he could barely see behind him and there was no rear view mirror. How the fuck did Chris know when to speed up and slow down when everyone was on and off the truck? He was going to have to spend some time with Chris, find out.

And he had no idea why he was wondering and thinking about Chris and his uncanny ability to drive, but it took his mind off both Clay and his foot, so dwell on Chris he would.

Speaking of his foot, it was doing its best to make him cry, throbbing from the rough, jouncing ride, but he ignored it. He had morphine, it got too bad. All he had to do was drive there, Chris would drive them back, so he only had to remain clear-headed until they arrived.

Once they arrived, he'd park where he had previously, radio Blackburn they were there and do nothing but wait.

Clay had asked him to come get him and come hell or surgery on his foot, he'd go get the kid.


	8. Chapter 8

I enjoyed the last episode...poor Clay. I just hope he isn't separated from the team too long. (TV time, that is) I like the team together.

* * *

Trent wished for soap and water. Wished for clean air, a sterile environment, better light. Took a breath and went digging with forceps and tweezers, cutting, slicing and snipping with the scissors and scalpel.

Dig, grab, pull, scrape, cut.  
Dig, grab, pull, scrape, cut.  
Dab with gauze.  
Flush with saline.  
Rinse with water.  
Pour peroxide.  
Dip surgical instruments in alcohol.  
Dig, grab, pull, scrape, cut.  
Repeat.

Trent worked steadily, quietly.

Jason struggled with an increasingly growing agitated Clay.

Wes dozed.

Cerberus watched without blinking...a dog stare that missed nothing.

And Clay?

Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod, oh-good-fucking-God-don't wake up….do not wake up, Clay chanted. Breathing was a big mistake, trying to open his eyes was a serious mistake, trying to move was a god-damn mistake and trying to wake up was a fucking mistake. The vise holding his head painfully to Jason's shoulder drove spikes into the back of his skull until the pain became so great he knew no more.

He came-to within minutes, remembered his weak attempt to lift his head had been unsuccessful, laid still, afraid to move, tried desperately to recall when he'd been hit by a mac truck.

Oh. Not a truck. A building. Right.

Quick flashes of memories caused the pounding in his head to increase: Text messages, the phone call, the gun shots, the ceiling caving, the floor collapsing, the screaming, the blood, the people next to him, uh, exploding. He couldn't stop his breathing from increasing to a heavy, uncontrolled pant as a memory of being splattered with blood and body parts made the room spin and caused consciousness to abandon him.

Again he was out mere minutes and this time when he woke up, reality was making a strong demand to be acknowledged. He was on the floor, on his side, he was cold, he was uncomfortable and he _hurt. _

He attempted to work one eye open, squinting as he blinked, waited for his vision to appear. Biting his lip and screwing up his courage, he carefully, gingerly, tried to lift his head. Yeah, it didn't happen. And he couldn't see anything. Was his eye opened? He waited, but his vision neither cleared nor returned. He reached for his eyes, encountered a blindfold, tried to remove it.

"Sssh. It's just a mask to block the light." Someone said gruffly. His head was held still from above…what that a chin? Felt scratchy, was rough….poked him. "Let it alone." Warm, callused fingers brushed his cheek, pulled the mask over his eyes.

He tried and failed again to lift his head. At least this time the attempt didn't cause him to pass out, just made him dizzy and gave him the sensation he was floating, moving. The useless strain of trying to force his vision to do his bidding was too great to endure, he passed out.

The next time he woke up, he couldn't stop his body's natural response to pain, the trauma it had experienced and waking with the lingering effects of pain meds. All he could do was whimper, fingers clawing for a grip, trying to clench the material under his fingers as he wrestled with panic and pain.

"Ssh, easy, stay still. You're okay...just Trent."

He stilled, felt his muscles eventually relax and the shaking ease, though he still shivered from the cold. He broke out in a sweat from the exertion of trying to gain control over his panic, felt sick, but by not moving and focusing on breathing in time the heartbeat beneath his ear, he was able to slowly go boneless and limp.

Jason, lulled into false security by Clay's calmness and complacency, jerked violently at the howl of pain that vibrated off the walls. Clay was out of his arms and half way off his lap before Jason recovered and dragged him back.

"Spenser, stop….I've gotcha."

Clay didn't fight the arms that held him, hugging him as he tried to pull his leg free, just yelped in dismay when his foot remained stuck.

"Clay, stop. Hey." A hand massaged his neck. "Hey, hey, hey…..nononono. Don't do that." His arm was rubbed, his hand held when he tried to flap it in distress. A fist closed overtop his fingers, forced him to curl them out of a fist. "Take it easy…..ok? Don't move your head, just breathe through it….that's it."

Jason guided his head down on to his shoulder, hand on the back of his neck. Clay wasn't trying to move away from him, his flinches and jerks were reactions to his body's growing alertness.

"SShhhsshhhshush. Your leg's fine. Okay?"

"Owwwww." Clay groaned, inhaled dust, coughed. "Uurrghh!." His pitiful moan caused Trent to wince in sympathy. "Ow," he whispered achingly, caused Trent to grimace, but the last layer of skin to be removed was also the deepest.

"Sorry kid, almost done." Trent said, changed gloves. "This is gonna sting." He pumped a spray topical ointment over the wound, waited a few seconds, sprayed it again, blew on it gently to ease the biting sting.

Clay squirmed, held still by both Jason and Trent, he didn't gain his freedom.

Jason just watched. He'd never order Trent not to treat one of them, would never question his judgement but he wondered if Trent had to clean that wound so thoroughly where they were.

The medic must have read his mind or maybe he just understood the look on his boss's face because he shrugged under the look of scrutiny.

"My gut tells me it's not a brain injury Jace." Trent said quietly. "It tells me every symptom he's exhibiting is from that infection. It got out of control when he stopped taking the Advil. With his immune system compromised, he wasn't able to fight the trauma or shock to his body from the explosion and fall. The longer it goes untreated, the worse it'll get. Yeah, an hour or three makes a difference. So, a bit of discomfort here or maybe months fighting a life-threatening infection. Which do you prefer?"

"I didn't say anything."

"That fast?" Wes stirred. "Really?"

"His blood pressure could bottom out, he can still go septic…his breathing isn't rapid, neither is his pulse, I want to keep it that way."

"But…you don't know that." Wes said sleepily. "It's a guess. A gut feeling."

Clay's leg cleaned and treated and bandaged, Trent left him for Jason to keep calm and moved over to take a look at Wes's arm.

"It's all I got." Trent said. "Jason, eat something, gonna be a couple hours before we get out of here, you're gonna have your hands full."

Wes's arm looked good. The bleeding was controlled and he was on antibiotics and pain meds, Trent told him to go back to sleep.

Since Jason couldn't move, Trent handed him a hoagie and a Gatorade, sat down to eat with him, fed Cerberus some ham.

"Brock doesn't like him having human food."

"Brock isn't here."

Jason grinned, offered Cerberus some turkey. "Think he's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, some tests, some bed rest."

"Can he fly home?"

"Keep him in the dark, sedated, yeah, in a day or two. He's gonna ache though." Though Doc might have a different opinion and his would be the official say-so. "I'm telling you Jason, he's gonna turn me grey as you."

"Hey now." Jason teased, ran a hand through his dusty hair. "Wash that grey right outta your hair is inexpensive and available at your local drugstore."

"He asleep?"

Jason looked down, gave Clay a slight jounce, didn't receive a response. "Passed out, asleep, no difference. Wes good?"

"Yeah. You need to move? He's heavy."

"Nah, any cookies?"

"Twinkie."

Jason held his hand out, Trent gave him a chocolate one.

"To the kid surviving yet again."

***000***

"Sonny! They're out, on our way." Brock radioed in.

Doc got out, clambered into the bed of the truck. Sonny wanted to join him, but they couldn't leave the truck unattended, so he sat in the driver's seat and as soon as he saw Cerberus leading the pack, turned the engine over.

Chris opened the driver's door, climbed up and in, pushed Sonny over who exited via the passenger door and hobbled around to the back where someone helped him up into the bed. Arms pulled, hands pushed, he didn't know or care who. he just wanted in the truck.

While Chris waited for the others to board the truck and settle, he accepted a wet, warm towel from someone to wash his face and hands; he neither knew nor cared where it came from or how it was still warm, was just grateful for it. He ate a hoagie, drank some coffee, finished the hasty meal with water.

A thump from behind and a thud on the side of the truck told him it was time to go. With one last look in the side mirror, he pulled out.

The supplies Doc and Sonny had brought with them were passed out by Eric, who waited until all his men, even Jason, were settled before taking a towel for himself. He stared at his hands….gloves had become useless. They were all banged up, would need to visit the infirmary, use the supplies there to tend to one other. The med staff that should have been there, was in the city and Doc would be busy for the next several hours with the skeletal crew that had remained on base. Trent though, would see to everyone else before seeing to his own comfort.

Wes would need minor surgery to remove the bullet. Clay would need x-rays and cat scans and mri's, whatever. Whew, what time was it anyway? Was gonna be a long day….night…..day, something.

He looked around the back of the truck. The men had settled, exhausted on the floor, on a bench, against one another, sipped coffee, huddled in blankets, held cold towels to raw, bruised hands, warm towels to swollen, abused eyes. Amazingly, everyone had made it through the rescue efforts with minor injuries.

His eyes, a will of their own, strayed to Bravo's fucking pain in the ass – Clay Spenser – and lingered.

Well, maybe everyone.

He'd been stunned and none to happy when they pulled Spenser from Jason's arms with; an IV, a mask over his eyes, his nose bleeding, running a fever, his leg wrapped and elevated, bruised, cut, scraped, road rash, covered with a blanket, shaking, lips trembling...had feared the worst.

He believed Trent, he did, but he wouldn't feel better until tests were done and Doc had examined the reason for everyone's grey hair and confirmed what Trent said - the kid was fine.

Ugh...oh, he wanted a hot bath.

Clay, unaware of his team Commander's silent musings, was strapped onto a stretcher and he wasn't happy, kept trying to raise his legs, move his arms. Unlike Jason and Trent, he hadn't been able to wipe his face clean, remained dirty, sooty, bloody and the mask remained across his eyes.

When Sonny attempted to move it, he had his hand smacked down, was told to leave it alone.

"Eye injury?" Ray asked alarmed. He sat up, bottle of water forgotten. "Why didn't you…"

"No, nononono." Trent said hastily. "Sensitive to light."

"That bad?" Brock whistled. "Ouch."

"What light? Ain't no light in here." Sonny drawled, turning so he could raise his foot, rest it in Chuck's lap who sat on the bench. "Can't he just keep his eyes closed?"

"Gee, dunno know why I didn't think of that." Trent said dryly.

"You couldn't clean him up?" Sonny scowled. "The hell were you doing down there all this time?"

"Had a hoagie." Jason joked. "Took a nap."

Sonny glared. Even Ray looked annoyed.

"Mmmm." Clay rolled his head. "Hon…nee?"

"Yeah kid." Sonny grinned, foot forgotten as Clay slurred his name. "What's up? How you doin'?"

"About….time." Clay licked his lips, was offered water, accepted it. "…..took….your….time….comin'….get…me."

"Right here." Sonny said huskily. "Had to…there was a bulldozer and a backhoe and uh…..I'm here."

"I don't….feel….so….good."

"I know."

"My….ass….hurts."

"You fell."

"No." He nestled his cheek against the blanket, blew his breath out. It was tucked tighter over his shoulders, cut the draft. "Tee'rent….shot….me."

Sonny's head jerked up, a 'knee-jerk' reaction. He knew better, but still leveled Trent with a glare that had the medic smirking back.

"With a needle." Did he really have to defend himself to Sonny?

"Big….one." Clay's voice was muffled. "Ow." His headache had abated to 'barely tolerable' but he hurt and his body ached and his leg throbbed and the jostling from the rough ride combined with being kept on his back made him, for the first time, nauseated.

He didn't feel good at all.

He twisted his head around to where he thought Sonny was, reached with his hand even though all he could move was his fingers. When Sonny took his hand, Clay squeezed desperately, his way of begging Sonny to make everything all better.

"You hurt him?" Sonny growled, look on his face promising retribution.

"Gonna again." Trent said smugly. Sonny's eyes narrowed. "Tell him why Jason."

"Uh, stab wound in his leg he didn't tell Doc about." Jason provided, head back, eyes closed. He was exhausted. Couple hours in a dark hole and he was wiped out. He was too old for this shit. Well, to be fair…..that was after hours of searching, digging, moving, lifting, lugging, tossing, throwing…every muscle in his body ached. Hell his bones ached.

Sonny cursed. "That fucking whore."

That brought Jason's head forward but before he could ask for more information, the truck halted, Doc was issuing orders and Clay was carried off.

***000***

"Jesus Christ Spenser!" Trent blew up when blue eyes blinked up at him. He hadn't expected to find Clay awake or a light on or his eyes clear and focused watching TV! He plopped his milkshake onto the bedside table in a huff.

Jason behind him, pulled up short at his usually quiet medic's explosion. Huh.

Clay squinted, head feeling like it was bobbing all about like a fucking inflatable air dancer.

"Why can't you once, throw a reaction like a normal person? Have a symptom actually related to your illness?"

_Yeah, hey ole buddy Trent, you wanna stay, you're gonna hafta stop yelling._

Clay might be awake and able to manage his discomfort, but it had to be quiet and dim for him to do so. His head was still touchy, his nose still wanted to bleed, though nowhere near as heavily as before and though his leg throbbed and his toes cramped from the elevated position they insisted he keep it in, he could ignore it. Well, along with the IV meds they had him on. The fever, now under control, left him tired and listless.

"I quit, I give up. No matter what I do, wham, blam, you just go and fuck me over!" His hands waved agitatedly, the too-fast motion making Clay feel like he was on a rocking, heaving boat. He stopped looking at Trent. "You're shot at, a bomb goes off in the same room you're in, and you're standing RIGHT NEXT TO IT! The whole fucking building collapses on you, you fall two levels into a basement no one even knew existed, should have suffocated on dust, smoke and what nearly kills **_YOU_**? A knife wound I didn't even know you had FROM a sex act gone kinky!"

Clay blinked, eyes wide and innocent. Hadn't heard a word Trent had said. What had him all worked up this time? Sonny, probably. He'd gone and abused his foot coming to pick up Clay and Wes.

He saw the milkshake.

"For me?" Slumped in the half reclined bed, he pushed up with his palms, fumbled for the button to raise the bed, missed Trent's growl and half-hearted attempt to launch at him.

"Who is she?" Jason asked, bear-hugging Trent from behind with exaggeration, chin resting on the medic's shoulder. "Few things we'd like to say to her."

"Deanna." Clay reached for the milkshake but it was still out of reach. He glared balefully at Trent for refusing to help him. "Dunno where she is. I told her it might be better, we slow things up, never saw or heard from her again." He shifted his weight to his other hip, reached again. "Is it vanilla?"

"It's cookies n crème and it's mine." Trent snapped, moved it completely out of reach. "I thought you'd be sedated, came to sit for a bit, watch the fight, since you get satellite." He eyed Clay's wrist. Good God, the kid had four hospital issued bracelets on one wrist. FOUR! He was going to have to sit down and start reading them, see what it was all about.

Clay let his eyes go soft and moist, bit his bottom lip until it was plump, completing his pout. Somehow, without even moving his head, he managed to let his bangs fall across his forehead.

Trent sighed, Jason laughed, Clay got the milkshake.

"Wow, he played you." Jason teased. "Sucker."

"Yuh-huh. And if I hadn't given it to him, you would have taken it from me and done so." Trent punched his boss hard in the deltoid muscle. Jason stepped back, rubbed his arm.

"No need to worry." Eric piped up. "She decided the west coast fit her, uh, life style better."

"What?" Jason turned to greet his Commander. "Who did?

"Deanna. She's Army." Eric explained. "Had her transferred."

"You knew about this?" Trent hissed, paused. "How?"

"You get more people transferred." Jason flexed his arm. Damn, that punch was going to leave a bruise.

Eric shook his head. "Eh, call me Radar O'Reilly." He grinned. "McCall has no idea what half the shit is he signs." He patted Jason on the shoulder he was still rubbing. "Talk to Sonny."

"He knew?" Jason rubbed his eyes. Man, he was wwaayy out in left field. Shit was happening within his team and he had no fucking clue.

That was gonna end.

"Yeah, let's go do that." Trent told Jason. "Eric?"

"Yeah, yeah, off with you." Eric waved them on, turned on the fight Trent had wanted to watch, made himself comfortable in the recliner.

The volume low, the lights dim, shielded from the flickering TV, his head, for the moment, content, Clay sank into the depths of the mattress and blankets to enjoy his icy treat.

"Guess I'm in trouble." Clay said after a while.

"Oh yeah."

"I had permission to go to town."

"Not what you're in trouble for."

Right. Clay squirmed. No, it was the knife wound he'd allowed Deanna to convince him was minor.

"All anyone has ever asked of you is to tell us when you stub a toe, have a hangnail." Eric said quietly. "Goes for anyone on this team. Too much depends on Bravo being healthy." He muted the TV, turned to look at Clay. "All of you. Doesn't matter how minor it is. Long as we know one of you is hurt, injured, lame, sick, we can adjust, adapt, take into consideration any limitations. I get it. You were embarrassed, didn't want to explain how you got that leg wound. Fine, no need to tell the guys, but you tell Doc, you tell me." He paused, waited. "You don't ignore it."

Clay nodded, eyes lowered. He hadn't. "I didn't. She's an army nurse. She said it was minor, shallow. Bactine and hot water, keep it wrapped."

"She's not Trent." Eric pointed out. "She doesn't know your medical history."

Clay sighed. What medic was?

"No one blames you for Sonny's swollen ankle or the attacks or being trapped or having to come get you, but dammit Spenser, hiding headaches and dependency on Advil to get through the day, yeah, you're gonnna pay."

Clay reached to set the empty cup on the table, couldn't reach. Before he could adjust the height of the bed, Eric took the cup and tossed it for him.

"You're grounded, house arrest. At Jason's. You'll be picked up for work, returned home. And you will stay there."

"We down because of Sonny?" Not the ideal living arrangement and he knew there would be further punishment coming.

"Two weeks." Eric said evasively. "Doc will dope you up, he needs to, we fly home Thursday."

()()()

Jason, headed for a show down with Sonny, passed Wes's room, popped in. Wes was dozing but woke up when Jason rattled the bedrail.

"Chief Hayes." He tried to sit up, stopped when Jason waved at him to relax. "Everything okay?"

"Glad you're doing good." Jason said. "You'll fly home with us Thursday."

"Spenser's okay then?"

"Oh, he hurts. Gonna get an ass kicking, but yeah, he's fine." Jason paused. "You're okay, you know that? Bit green, but you're gonna make it." He winked. "You ever need anything, look me up. We owe you one."

"Thank you sir."

Jason saw Trent barreling down the hall, bid Wes good-night, took off in pursuit. They tracked Sonny down in their quarters, playing checkers with Brock.

Trent strode in, slapped Sonny upside his left ear. Jason strode in, slapped Sonny upside his right ear.

"Hey! Yow!" Sonny grabbed his smarting ears. "The hell!"

"Deanna." Trent crossed his arms. "Anything to say?"

"Oh." Sonny stammered. "Yeah, uh, see...I took care of her...it. All's good."

"She stabbed him."

"They were, uh, wrestling."

"Blackburn had her transferred. Ain't easy to do. You know, being Army and all."

"Yeah, well, she...see I told him she wasn't worth swollen wrists and knife fights. She didn't seem much in the mind to leave him alone, so I asked Blackburn if there was anything he could do."

"Swollen wrists?" Ray put down his book, joined the conversation.

"Restraints." Brock supplied.

"Oh." He buried his nose back in his book to hide his blush.

"You didn't come to me, why?"

"You have a lot on your plate Jay. Thought Blackburn could pick up some slack." Sonny said defensively. "He came through."

"Sonny, if someone is hurting one of you...any of us...I need to know. It doesn't matter what you think I can handle, you tell me."

Chastised, Sonny nodded. "Roger that boss."

"Thought you went to watch the fight." Brock said, changed the subject.

"He's awake, Blackburn stayed to have a chat with him."

"He doing okay?"

"Sore, some pain, but yeah, he's good."

***000***

Emma walked through the back door, tossed her keys onto the counter, took a flavored water from the fridge. She was texting on her phone when she tripped over the duffel bag sitting on the floor.

"Great Dad." She muttered, both annoyed the bag was in the middle of the floor and happy her dad was home.

She kicked it to the side, saw several more. Mara, the lady her dad had hired to come in daily to shop and cook and clean would have loads of laundry to do.

"DAD!" She called, tossed the phone, headed for the living room, came up short. "Oh, hey."

Clay, her dad's, um, sniper, sat on the sofa, hunched over, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. He raised his head slightly, glanced up through damp, curled bangs with pain-clouded eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Hey Emma." He swallowed, crossed his arms over his stomach.

"Wow Clay, you look like crap." She said finally.

"Yeah, 'bout how I feel." He gave her a lop-sided grin. God, he wanted to lay down, curl up, go to sleep.

"Bravo just get home? I would have picked Dad up, you should have gone straight home."

"Uh, yeah, I..."

"Ems." Jason hugged her, kissed the top of her head. "Didn't hear you come in."

"Maria just changed the beds." She saw the sheets in Jason's arms. "Those are for Mikey's bed...Oh, is Clay staying? They won't fit the sofa."

"Yeah, 'bout that. You want a babysitting job?"

"What does it pay?"

"$10.00 an hour?"

"Uncle Ray? Miss Janine?"

"Him." Jason jerked his thumb.

"Clay?" She sighed, took the sheets from her dad's hands. "He's staying here? You have some explaining to do. I'll make the bed." She noticed the bruises and cuts on her dad's face, saw this scabbed hands. "Rough job?"

"Not a good one."

"He okay?"

"Not really."

She sighed again. She'd wanted her dad to open up, let her in, share a part of his life she was now old enough to understand. She couldn't very well complain now that he was doing so.

"He will be. We'll take care of him." She stood on tip-toe, kissed her dad's cheek. "Welcome home. Let's get him settled."

***END***

*** Okay, so I think I covered all the 'requests' to finish this story! The Emma one was a bit of quandary, because I haven't decided if this takes place before or after "Something to believe in', so if anyone notices any continuity errors, my bad!

Whew! And I thought I was done in chapter six!


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